


maladaptive daydreaming

by orphan_account



Series: Latreía mou - Zagreus/Hypnos oneshot collection [2]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: (of which INCLUDE):, Angst, Dom/sub, Emotional Sex, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Happy Sex, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Humor, Size Difference, Somnophilia, Spanking, Strength Kink, Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In which:-Hypnos really likes the idea of being manhandled-Has many a sexual fantasy-Accepts the fact he’ll never have any sort of chance with Zagreus-Is wrong about the above point
Relationships: Hypnos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Series: Latreía mou - Zagreus/Hypnos oneshot collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630744
Comments: 57
Kudos: 683





	maladaptive daydreaming

Hypnos has his fantasies. And not of the _'what would happen if I just started juggling these expensive looking ceramics'_ kind. Though, maybe he should learn juggling anyway. No, these fantasies are of a distinct self-indulgent kind. Ones that come at full force when nights (days?) are especially lone—boring (he isn't lonely), and he's only got a tankard of questionable alcohol and a hand to entertain himself.

Whoever made up the narrative that the Fates are a trio of cosmic weaving, all-powerful, but decidedly neutral, grandmas is obviously either talking out of their ass or completely, and hopelessly, stupid. Because cheek-pinching unbiased grandmas wouldn’t have made Hypnos lust after such a tantalizingly close, yet still unattainable, target. He swears in quieter moments, when he is near the precipice of slumber while deliberately ignoring a shade complain to him about how they were cheated in life, he can hear the Fates laugh at him. A cackling, mocking crescendo because these calamitous, perverse composers of existence are A) sadistic and B) do not like him, for some unfathomable ( _fucking_ ) reason. 

_Oh but we haven’t given poor little Hypnos enough suffering in life,_ says the Spinner, already twisting her spider-like, cracking fingers to entwine a most hilarious curse. 

_Yes, that mite. He who loiters in the halls of Hades, hair so eloquently infused with the finest conditioner, allowing for a most bouncy crown of hair,_ says the Alloter, the exact dialogue that has not been altered in any way. 

_He is close with the Prince of Hades, why not make his heart a treacherous lump of flesh that impairs itself at the mere sight of the excessively handsome Prince? What with his dazzling eyes as mismatched gemstones, hair so tempting to touch_ _—it must feel as though a cloud, surely_ — _and those gods-gifted set of muscles, sculpted from Aphrodite herself, an impossible temptation that haunts the mind. How does he feel, to touch? To_ be _touched by him?_ says the Inflexible, whose voice has suspiciously developed an inflection similar to Hypnos’ own.

Oh, how dare they. He would have a word with them, a ~~pleading~~ stern talking to or a strongly worded letter, if that didn’t mean going through upper management. And upper management is Master Hades. And no one wants to go through Master _Hades_. He doesn’t answer any correspondents with his own kin on Mount Olympus, what’s the chances of him actually committing to a (totally reasonable and valid) complaint to the unshakable directors of destiny? _None,_ that’s what. Hypnos’ grievances will become the same as those records the Master keeps within his boundless storage: forgotten with no remorse, fuel for a fireplace or an impromptu glove used to clean the less desirable offerings that Cerberus has to give that appear after he’s had a hearty meal. 

Oh, and Master Hades would definitely take Hypnos in his terrifyingly large hand and simply _squeeze_ if Hypnos were to arrive with such a complaint. An action both out of annoyance that Hypnos would dare speak to him about something that cannot be changed, and the fact that Hypnos longs to dance with _his son_ under the sheets. Master Hades may not involve himself with his son unless Zagreus is out gallivanting with the interest of bringing shame to the House, and likely wouldn’t react outside of a berating so cutting Hypnos will feel its lingering effects of disgrace for the rest of his life, _but._ Mortal stories of parents enacting casual filicide with a hearty helping of so called ‘justifiable’ homicide when their child decides their own fate of entering the pants of another despite their parents evident offhand need for bloodshed—prompted thus forth because the target of the pants was someone the parents were just itching to execute for whatever petty reason—tends to stick. 

And stick they do, as a particularly stubborn mold Hypnos cannot rid himself from despite him putting an exorbitant amount of elbow grease to the working. Mold that continues to fester at the corners of his eyes when he attempts sleep but is unable because the mold is making a very convincing picture of Hades killing him and, more importantly, Zagreus, through the most creative ways, causing thousands of mortals to suddenly develop insomnia. 

Not like _that_ will pass, regardless. Because it isn’t as if Zagreus’ pants will be his to explore in the first place. Not even if he learns to juggle expensive looking ceramics. Such seduction shall be wasted, because Zagreus is a _prince_ and graceful and handsome and beautiful and magnificent and gorgeous and stunning and (insert all synonyms for _‘hot as all hell and so indescribably good’_ here) and Hypnos is… Well, he’s good, but not Prince Seducer good.

Alas. Such is existence. Unfair. And cruelly so. 

* * *

Hypnos counts himself as a member of Zagreus’ personal circle. _Personal_ being the key word, not a mere outliner that Zagreus occasionally acknowledges the existence of before Hypnos’ presence becomes a fickle wisp that exits Zagreus’ head through his ear directly after the fact. No, he’s a stubborn wisp that is securely planted within the palace of Zagreus’ mind. Or, at least, that is what he clandestinely muses in the privacy of his own head. Overestimating one’s place in another’s life is a dangerous thing, Hypnos knows, he’s seen enough tragedies with such a plot play out through the dreams of mortals to know that intimately.

But _he_ isn’t wrong in being proud (and he _is_ proud!) of the fact that Zagreus likes him. Tolerates him, deliberately spends time with him, _likes_ him. Maybe there’s some unloaded baggage he has that he refuses to acknowledge, to feel so bordering on the side of literal arrogance at such as fact, that Zagreus does so little as enjoy his company. But, those can continue to collect dust in the purposely difficult to reach recesses of infinity, because it is far more enjoyable to think of how Zagreus always makes it a point to speak with him after his innumerable deaths and takes his advice to heart.

“You know, mines have a tendency to explode,” Hypnos says. "And with that, heat to melt the flesh with, and with _that_ , teeny little shards that will make good on that promise of making you into tiny, itty bitty little pieces."

"Don't get blown up and become strewn across the land, check." Zagreus nods, smile in place and oh, _oh,_ it isn’t fair for someone who literally just got blown to pieces to _smile_ so. "Wouldn't do me much good to try and copy the Titans, now would it?"

Oh, but he adores the Prince, and especially the Prince’s commitment on having one tit free to the wind. Sometimes the Fates _can_ be kind, but such kindness is always sullied by their usual torture on the fact Hypnos can’t simply grace forward and grab onto said tits with kneading, pleading fingers.

"I wouldn't say it's in your best interest, no,” Hypnos replies, award-winning restraint tragically unnoticed and unappreciated, as he doesn’t stare a hole into Zagreus’ exposed nipple. "You know, I think I can still smell the singed hair and roasted skin.”

“ _Foul,_ ” Zagreus snickers, shaking his head in amusement, those lovely ebony locks of hair bouncing and, wow, blood must be a wondrous wash if it’s able to make his hair so shiny. 

It is such a privilege to have someone who gives proper thanks and consideration to Hypnos’ constant uphill battle of providing only the most relevant and practical advice for each and every death. Hypnos’ own plight to share the pursuit of _knowledge_ with the Prince is a lonesome, unthankful journey, but Zagreus _is_ ever thankful. Megaera too, sometimes, that fact it's own separate blessing, as only the brightest (and hottest) people in this house truly understand him.

But this isn’t about Megaera and her delightfully enticing whip. He isn’t part of her circle, nor she his, and while she’s always aesthetically pleasing to look at, Zagreus can be content in knowing he holds a higher place in Hypnos’ honoured pedestal of _‘would bed.’_ It might have something to do with the fact he’s part of that inner personal circle of Zagreus’. Something to do with deeper connections, of how Hypnos trusts Zagreus to the point of entertaining ludicrous thoughts of agreeing to hijinks with the man, something to do with a precarious four letter word starting with _L._

Though, there is a five letter word starting with L he feels far more appropriate in this whole situation. One that perfectly encapsulates this bane of unrequited affection, this position that calls for Hypnos to become the master of that most arduous and painful dance: the avoidance of his feelings whilst also attempting to maintain his friendship with that target of his four letter L word. Loser. He feels like a loser.

But enough of that. Zagreus has left, sauntering into the further recesses of the House, Hypnos’ award-winning lack of restraint thankfully unnoticed and unappreciated as he stares a hole into Zagreus’ ass. 

The shades, numerous as they may be, are at least considerate enough to be semi-transparent. And through the masses of green with lowered opacity, he delights in the curvature of Zagreus’ rear undulate underneath the crimson of his tunic, each cheek surging in accordance of his steps and creating a crease in that most bothersome piece of clothing that signify the valley in between those said cheeks. Yeah. He could rest his face on that.

When Zagreus vacates his vision entirely, Hypnos slumps against the wall behind him with a dull _thump_. Shades continue the procession, mingling an ever amorphous sequence that produce a haze at the edges as his eyes lose focus, and, well, it must be night time in the mortal world, because too many mortals are asleep for it not be.

Zagreus is a friend. A close friend. A _best_ friend, even. Hypnos does not know where he lies with Zagreus himself, but, hopefully, just beneath Cerberus on the attachment scale. _Overestimating your place in his life_ is a shrewd whisper from the confines of his skull that he yawns over.

Sure, one might say it may be… dangerous, or perhaps, even, _unwise_ to continue fantasizing about certain scenarios regarding Zagreus. Many of which revolve the touching of intimate areas and whispering each other’s names with heavy, want-laden voices. But it isn’t like Zagreus _knows,_ and he won’t, because Hypnos isn’t so careless as to let slip his feelings. Because he has them under control, completely reigned in as to not make a complete nuisance of himself, and that recurring nightmare of donning the persona of a buffoon as he attempts to confess those very treacherous feelings which result in the entire House subsequently laughing at him will not come to pass. _Nope._

He’ll show those Fates yet. These butterflies in his gut will be vomited outwards and he’ll be free of their shackles, of that he’s sure of.

* * *

It has always been a particularly tasteless jib of the Fates to make Hypnos so deeply attracted to those physically larger than himself. When he, himself, is what one might eloquently describe as… small. Why, it’s a wonder how Mother Nyx didn’t mistake him for a measly mortal when he was first created. Like a miniature version of what one assumes a God _should_ be, and Thanatos took all bulk and height with a particular greed when they were in development. But Hypnos has no ill will towards anyone for his short stature; variety is the spice of life, as they say. Not everyone can be built like a brick shithouse. And one of those spices of life, an especially delectable one, is size difference. 

Which, lucky for him, can be quite common. Whereas other Gods and Goddesses can enjoy the celestial height of six to seven to _eight_ foot (unless you're an Olympian and just decide _'fuck it'_ and become the size of a small mountain), Hypnos resides comfortably beneath the stratosphere with a distinctly mortal height of _'being shorter than most human males you poor, poor shmuck'_ . Zagreus is, and this key, tall enough that Hypnos graces around just below the curvature of his shoulder. _Whew._

He doesn’t exactly have an exact situation he can rightfully recall that brought about Zagreus in this frustratingly pants-tenting light. He's always had enough sense and functioning eyes to appreciate Zagreus once he became aware of his own tastes. The Prince is tall, broad shouldered, strong, knows how to handle multiple weapons, strong, is apparently oblivious to how his bicep moves when he bends his arm to take a swig of some drink, _strong,_ could most definitely lift Hypnos off his feet with little to no effort if he _really_ wanted to. 

One would think dying numerous times would not paint a flattering picture on one’s strength, but Zagreus still manages to be alluring nonetheless. Hypnos blames that on the blood that seeps from Zagreus’ body each time he returns, the deep maroon twinkling in the light of the candles that decorate the hall, percolating just so to accentuate the musculature of the body beneath. With its shine, it outlines Zagreus’ frame as some sort of gleaming coat of armour, proclaiming just exactly how broad shouldered he is with thick biceps to boot. The blood reeks of copper, but any unpleasantness it may have held is second rate to the fact Zagreus is large and well defined, appearing as if he just executed a most fearsome foe and has bathed in its blood. Despite having actually just died.

Doesn’t change the fact he looks really, really good in red. 

“Big snake mouths will eat you whole, you know.” Hypnos says, sagely. “They can unhinge their jaw. Their teeth are pretty pointy too, it’s not good for the body, I hear.” 

“You’re right, I’ll give you that, mate.” Zagreus winces, clearly recalling his previous unsuccessful stint with the hydra only moments prior. His body is free of its earlier rattlings of overgrown snake made puncture holes, his skin smooth and embellished and just asking for a hand to glide upon it to explore. _Ugh._

Zagreus continues. “I’ll remove _‘being eaten by a multi-headed snake’_ from my itinerary. Thank you for enlightening me so, Hypnos.” 

Hypnos shows his humility with a bow, and Zagreus leaves.

He leaves, but not before reaching out and placing a hand on Hypnos’ shoulder. A casual, friendly pat, done so without a thought of his own literal heavy handed strength because the action nearly has Hypnos’ damned knees buckle from the sudden force of it. That in of itself is something Hypnos could think about in private, but then Zagreus’ _squeezes_ his hand on Hypnos’ shoulder and—Well. He’s got a good grip. 

Zagreus is gone before Hypnos can rightly compute how Zagreus’ fingers digging into his flesh has sparked a fire in his gut. It wasn’t as if Zagreus was seeking to bruise, but even through that simple gesture Hypnos could feel the untapped strength beneath. Zagreus could easily pick him up. Pick him up, with _one_ hand.

Things do not bode well for him if such small actions get him _this_ riled up.

Well, now’s a good a time as any to retreat into the sanctuary of Elysium to release steam. He needs to shake himself from his stupor, to rid himself of the burning flame imprint that still resides on his shoulder. He de-summons his list and takes his own leave. Vacating his post so brazenly is usually an open request for Master Hades to boom down at him, but making determined strides with purpose is a surprisingly effective way to dispel suspicion. 

(Though, Hypnos almost swears he sees Master Hades roll his eyes and pinch his nose, as if he knows already what Hypnos plans to do.) 

Hypnos need not dance around his intentions or pretend to be coy when in Elysium. Such will only prolong the desirable which is, simply, the opposite of what he wants, and the opposite of what the Exalted wish, he’s sure. A greeting of _‘Hail, finest of Elysium, I come bearing a most exquisite gift for you to use as you please: me!’_ gets the job done well enough. 

There are mortal mutterings that in death, in Elysium, that one is freed from living burdens. Eternal paradise and all that, exempt of suffering of every kind for one’s spirit to thrive as an everlasting entity free of obligation. And, sure, as a shade, a dead mortal need not worry about those pesky things that requires due diligence, such as hunger. Or sexual frustration (oh, by the Gods, he’s jealous of a _shade_ ). But some of those same things that are no longer required is also what makes eternal bliss just that, blissful: The indulgence of food dancing upon the tongue, the ability to simply rest for a century or two, the exchange of flesh. 

Perhaps the mere fact they are given an opportunity to fuck a God is what elicits the positive response from Elysium’s Exalted. Partially. Hypnos isn’t above admitting that he bathes in a brew of his creation of the finest herbs to produce a captivating enough scent to seduce any spirit of Tartarus, every time he deems it time to visit the plains of Elysium. Well, most of the time, this specific occasion he fled with a needy haste too fast to run a bath beforehand. 

Regardless, it works. The denizens of the Elysium accept his gift, with hands that grip firmly on his hips, fingers clawing as if wishing to create indents upon his flesh, with Hypnos’ own hands and knees stained with ethereal dirt.

He always beckons into some dark, shadowed corner of Elysium in these encounters, and they always follow. Elysium as a whole is already far too bright for his tastes, the gleam it is coated within like the advent of a headache, and he’d rather not be distracted while having a cock up his ass or cunt at his mouth. _This_ is meant to _be_ the distraction, after all. The sanctuaries of these crepuscular nooks provide an everlasting refuge from the annoyances of any glow and, he's relatively certain, provide an air which some might call _romantic_. It's an ideal place to entertain those who are gracious, and lucky enough, to answer his call for carnal pleasures. 

The Exalted may have been mortal in life but they provide a presence large enough that gets Hypnos excited. Both figuratively and, more importantly, _physically_. There are Gods who would be ashamed of being the lesser occupant, especially if the other party is/was mortal that they are being compared to. But Hypnos has a little something called _taste._ It's always quite enlightening when forced to all fours, worked open with fingers that have him twitch and clench, making good use of that vial of oil he secures for these little outings. Knees scuffing against the ground with the force of a measured hammering, as if the person behind him wishes to have him slide across the floor through the well appreciated effort of ramming their dick up him alone. The hands grip at him with a welcomed strength, curled upon his hip with an embrace that pulls and pushes Hypnos at a punishing rhythm which emit with it a melody of slapping flesh as Hypnos' rear is brought to the other's front.

His robe makes for a very convenient piece of clothing. He need not have to go through the laborious process of full garment removal when he merely just needs to lift his skirt and pull down his undergarments to his ankles and _viola_. And easy to reassemble afterwards, with only a wipe needed to clean the resulting mess, and Hypnos can leave a poetic review for his stoic companion's performance after his brain boots up again. Said companion communicates their contentment as most of the Exalted do; with deep, heavy grunts and growls that elicit a fluttering that cascades through Hypnos’ own body. 

Is there a language barrier? Do the Exalted think it beneath them to actually speak, nowadays? They don’t appear to be the ones to give riveting conversation, broadcasting themselves seemingly only through bays and particularly enticing snarls. Not that Hypnos finds himself minding, much; a well placed exhale through bared teeth will get a reaction regardless if it is accompanied with spirited conversation or not. But they do at least seem appreciative of Hypnos’ own quips, with how their hands squeeze at a well placed _‘you feel just how I thought a mighty hero would,’_ here and a _‘you’ve got a cock even the Gods are envious for’_ there and a whole littering of needy gasps and whines everywhere.

They’re both heedless to the cacophony they’re making. Some swirling mélange of distinctly moist swatting and the stuttering breathing of want, coalesced from a scene of a God on his hands and knees getting rammed by one of Elysium’s Exalted. Of whom looms as an ominous shadow that curls over the smaller God’s arched back, the most defining aspect of said shadow being the gleam of their teeth as they gnarl.

Yum.

The chances of being overheard isn’t something that Hypnos has any worries of. _Au contraire,_ whatever the hells that means, he doesn’t mind at all. Elysium is a free place. Orgies already have a designated calendar spot. An audience or queue buildup is quite flattering. 

When his well endowed partner moves one of their hands, slipping from Hypnos’ hip and dragging itself upwards to creep between his shoulder blades as a snake intent on making its presence known, a hand settles upon his shoulder. Fingers curl inwards, nails press into flesh, and a jolt goes through the entirety of Hypnos’ body as a thunderbolt from Zeus. 

And here this was meant to be a casual romp to _divert_ his attention from Zagreus. But the Fates send their most difficult challenges to their greatest subjects.

Zagreus has a good grip. Even through an offhand gesture, Hypnos could feel that much. Zagreus is bigger than the guy currently in him. Fuck.

Before he can stop himself, he envisions the hands that grip into him belonging to Zagreus, the heavy presence behind him belonging to Zagreus, those continued grunts and growls belonging to Zagreus, the cock forcing itself deeper into him belonging to Zagreus.

The unbidden image, the mere _idea_ that Zagreus could be the one behind him, is one that prompts Hypnos to generate a particularly wanton and needy groan. His friend takes it as a compliment, as they gift him with an especially harsh thrust.

Oh, but to further indulge in this fantasy of Zagreus being the one delivering him to pound town instead of Exalted number hundred and something, isn’t a good idea. And that rational, well-spoken part of him takes a back seat to such a very fantasy, because it is all _too_ tempting, and Hypnos is all _too_ weak. Something to do with the current deluge of titillation from having a prick inside him sabotaging the mind of reasonable thinking, he’ll blame later.

Zagreus is a severe presence, his weight unwieldy upon Hypnos’ back as an overhanging behemoth, his breath hot against Hypnos’ nape, willing the smaller’s hair to stand on end as his grip is merciless, as if Zagreus produces claws instead of nails. He holds Hypnos with an adamant hunger, ensuring that Hypnos stays where he is with no recourse of wiggling out of his influence. As if Hypnos would. 

He wants that steady grip from his shoulder to lurk towards his neck, before fingers then coil around his throat as a healthy reminder of whom Hypnos belongs to. He moans at the thought of it, the phantom sensation brought from the thought of it makes his body quiver and his own dick ache. His spectral associate notices with a hearty squeeze of their hand, but Hypnos needs something a little more authoritative. 

“ _Harder,_ ” Hypnos grunts, voice straining itself. “You can do better than that—”

And, well, that gets a response. A grunt, one Hypnos could almost assume is amused at some level, and then that hand on his shoulder is released and rallied at the back of his head, fingers again curling inwards to grab at a clump of his hair, the pressure of a thousand pinpricks making themselves known as his hair roots tingle at the scalp. That alone is enough to bring forth a gasp from him, but his fuck-buddy does him one better: they push the hand seated on his head downwards, exerting their weight as Hypnos can no longer support himself as his face is thrusted into the dirt below. He yelps as a response, clenches around his partner as thanks, and is kept there with a force.

Zagreus would do so with such a little effort. Just a simple exertion with the same amount of energy as swatting away an annoying fly. Shoving Hypnos downwards so that his cheek is intimately acquainted with the earth below as if he had wanted to quell Hypnos’ continued whining. It is an effective way to stun Hypnos momentarily from his determined noise making, but the resulting shockwaves of delight do not keep him quiet for long. Zagreus is a wonderful presence. And unlike Elysium’s finest, he tends to talk.

He imagines, clearly through the haze of zeal that seek to engulf him, Zagreus’ voice, weighted and done clearly with the toothy smile. His breaths scorches the skin of Hypnos’ neck, wafting against his ear as Zagreus leans forward. _‘You act as such a bitch in heat,’_ Zagreus whispers, terribly amused and Hypnos _whines. ‘I should invest in having you collared.’_

The promise is one that rocks Hypnos to his core, his gut coiling and neglected dick leaking for release. He’s near sobbing when takes himself in a fist, desperately pumping at the imagined weight of a band secured across his neck, with a lead that is smugly placed Zagreus’ hands and suddenly Hypnos is very jealous of Cerberus.

The huffing of the Exalted is becoming more shallow, quickened and mirroring Hypnos’ own increasing urgency as his body loses itself in a whirlwind of trembles. He’s breathing in dirt as the hand that is cemented on his head increases its weight, the body behind him urging itself deeper, and deeper, thrusts becoming so erratic and frantic that Hypnos already knows it will leave his rear unsittable.

Zagreus finishing inside him is what brings Hypnos over the edge. The feeling of such rapture within him is brightened tenfold at Hypnos’ near delirious, impromptu thought of Zagreus painting his insides as a form of marking, of ownership, something Hypnos has no hope of reclaiming on the account of being literally inside him, and Hypnos gladly gives himself up fully. Hypnos stains the earth below him with a hoarse cry, tongue and mouth moving on their own accord as some mangled mess of babbling leaves as he himself contort within that bright blast of pleasure that leaves his whole body exhausted and limp.

Gods, orgasms _can_ kill.

The weight is lifted from him as his partner retracts their hand from his head, placing it once more to his hips with a decidedly more gentle and fatigued touch. Hypnos lies as a heap, the aftershocks of that bright supernova only moments prior slowly ebbing away, and with its growing absence from his body, comes the feeling of drainage. The side of his face that had been shoved to the ground hurts. His knees hurt. His thighs hurt. His back hurts. His ass hurts.

A dull ache, for sure, one that is trumped by the satisfaction they bring. Or should. The realization that it is not, in fact, Zagreus who had done this to him steals away any gratification with a particular cruelty. He literally sags in disappointment when his mind is returned to him and that dastardly little thing called sense comes knocking rudely to proclaim _it is counterproductive to indulge in these delicious fantasies when you’re trying to get over these feelings you horny idiot_. 

When his partner retracts themselves fully from him, a loud gasp of satisfaction coming from their side as they exit his ass, Hypnos is left feeling emptier than usual. 

Zagreus would say something snarky, here. _Do you want that collar golden or red? Both?’_ the voice of Zagreus says, breaths heavy as the Prince’s own body recuperates from their hump-fest. He’s smirking, self-satisfied and proud of Hypnos’ spent body, like an artist admiring their work, while his eyes dance with something that can be almost described as _fond_ _—_

Oh, yeah, this isn’t helping. The resounding ache in Hypnos’ chest is evident enough of that. He groans, not because of any residual soreness of the act prior, but because glowy ghost cum dripping from his ass isn’t enough to satiate the deep, cavernous pang of Zagreus’ absence. He moves himself, a huff leaving him as attempts to sit on his knees with some level of decorum, liquid dripping out of him from both ends and ethereal dirt still clinging to him. 

He wipes at his mouth, mindlessly cleaning the trickle of drool that has escaped him and, had he shed tears during that? He doesn’t remember, but he blinks to dispel the leftover wetness of his eyes regardless. _Zagreus_ would be able to give him a good crying session from a good impalement session—

This distraction had the complete opposite effect. He’s going to be thinking about how Zagreus’ cum might feel and taste like for the next week.

Hypnos is on the verge of retrieving his handy-dandy wipe of cleaning when he realizes his companion who had just ass blasted him is still in the vicinity, standing a few steps away with no indication that they were just firmly attached to his rear. Hypnos is too fatigued to rightly become jealous at the Exalted’s apparent innate ability to clean themselves of any sex-related stains, as he quirks a brow at the tall specter still looking down at him. 

“Unfortunately, and it is my greatest regret to say so, I will not be offering a round two.” Hypnos states, assuming then the shade will huff in some sort of disappointed, but understanding, response and promptly leave.

“You cried the name of the rebel Prince.” 

It’s a voice one would expect from these dark figures with a perpetual simmering outline: hollow and sounding as if encountering an absurd amount of reverb. Hypnos blinks, from the surprise that the other is actually speaking rather than any comprehension to the words themselves.

Ah. He had, hadn’t he? In that garbled mess of want and over-stimulation, there _might_ have been something resembling the name ‘Zagreus.’ 

“So the reticent phantom has a voice after all,” Hypnos scoffs, wipe in hand as he maneuvers himself to clean his sullied hole. His companion makes no move to help. _Zagreus_ would. “Thanks for clearing up that mystery. I was starting to wonder, really. Saves me the trouble of asking.” 

His deliberate refusal to actually acknowledge the other’s statement makes its point well enough. The Exalted merely gives a curt nod of understanding, a small wave of ‘ _thanks for the sex’_ and they leave to do whatever it is the all righteous heroes of Elysium do.

Hypnos does not stay to linger in solitude. The sudden unreliable musings of how Zagreus would curl his arms around Hypnos’ body as they both lay in post-coital glee is fuel enough to get moving in a vain attempt to get his mind to shut up.

* * *

Perhaps ironically, Zagreus is felled by a Greatshield.

Hypnos has no way of knowing if it is his previous friend that took the Prince down, obviously. The list is not so gracious as to come with a footnote that says _‘The Exalted one you went and had funny business with went ahead and jammed Zagreus’ clam.’_ He may have gotten too excited and said a certain name that leaves no uncertainty what his wants are with the Prince to a stranger who is in regular clobbering with said Prince and would lose nothing in revealing Hypnos’ secrets, _but,_ Hypnos knows the righteous in Elysium do not concern themselves in such dramas, especially with the Gods. Especially with minor Gods.

(He hopes.) 

Zagreus approaches as he usually does, a minor _‘ugh’_ at having to walk out of the Pool of Styx and then Hypnos’ eyes exaggerating the relief he sees on Zagreus when their eyes meet. 

“Maybe they’re onto something when they call them Elysium’s finest, huh.” Hypnos says when Zagreus takes his usual place in front of him to receive his wisdom. “I suppose we know now why they’re called that!”

Zagreus laughs, a small light chortle that is short and airy and Hypnos has a faulty heart in his chest. “I can’t deny when someone has earned the title of hero. I think my ears are still ringing from that nasty shield-bash. Just like, _wham!_ ” Zagreus says.

And Zagreus accentuates that _wham_ by lifting his arm and providing a reduced simulation: he uses his fingers to give Hypnos a light shove. His fingers, not a flattened palm against Hypnos’ chest, just his _fingers_ and Hypnos needs to reassert his footing from it.

“Cheers!” Zagreus says as he leaves, heedless to the fact Hypnos’ brain is being drained of blood.

His heart is continuing to malfunction. A playful, good-natured _nudge._ And Hypnos is thinking rapidly of what _else_ Zagreus could do so easily. 

_Picking up after Cerberus when he has had a feast, fetid piles of flesh and viscera that could only be expelled from the chaotic eating brought on by a three headed dog. Picking up Cerberus’ great (literal) flaming turds. Dog turds dog turds dog turds_ _—_

It wouldn’t do well to pop a boner in the middle of the procession just because his mind runs away from him with certain ideas pertaining to a certain Prince and his certain strength. Dog turds. No one likes dog turds. Blood returns from its express trip downwards to return upwards and Hypnos is saved from indignity and certain doom if an uninvited member were to make his presence known. Master Hades is very _particular_ about the House’s image, afterall. 

He shakes himself, rolls his shoulders, breathes in and lets out a deep exhale. Focus on work. Thanatos is always telling him to focus on work. The repetition of greeting shades and ensuring the accuracy of the ledger will dull the brain, distract him from those other thoughts, the monotony a saviour.

(He falls asleep.)

~

And the thought of the shove also doesn’t leave him, when he is allowed respite from his station. In fact, it stampedes to him once he is able to secure privacy in his usual dwelling within Erebus.

He shouldn’t. But the thought of how Zagreus could easily restrain him is an all convincing siren that he falls to. The quiet dull ambiance of Erebus is interrupted by Hypnos’ quickened steps that ring across the tiles as he goes to secure himself a corner, ebony bed as its immaculate and enticing self as Hypnos disrobes from his cape and settles. He surrenders to the bed with a thump, simply falling above its cushions with his face facing the never ending darkness that expands into infinity that is the ceiling. He flexes his fingers. His toes curl, and he feels as though he should bounce a leg to quell a sudden onset of anticipation. He moves a hand to answer that very anticipation, and through his robe he clasps his still soft cock.

Eyes flutter shut, and it’s time to get _really_ indulgent.

Zagreus is really missing out. Here he could have an ever willing partner for him to impose upon as he wishes and he _doesn't_ because this lovable idiot is too oblivious on how he could so freely shove Hypnos against a wall. Palm flat against Hypnos' chest, just the mere presence of it enough to coax Hypnos to tread backwards, Zagreus not even having to commit to a full shove as all he requires is to simply make a point: he's larger, he's stronger, and he has Hypnos _right_ where he wants him. All he needs to do to complete such a message is to look down at Hypnos with a raised head, something keen in his eyes. Something hungry. Accompanied with a smirk that is all too knowing of the effect he has on Hypnos.

Hypnos sighs, deeply, something that courses through his body as he lazily massages himself through his robe. He can feel his skin tingle further at the continued thought of Zagreus crowding into his space. Cornering him in some forgotten alcove, palm against his chest, or hand gripping at his shoulder, or hand restraining his wrist. A hand curled around his throat, forcing the smaller to look upwards to an amused face, Zagreus delighting in the vibrations against his hand as Hypnos' heart begins to beat more rapidly.

 _You're so easy,'_ Zagreus _cooes_ , a light taunt and it jolts straight to Hypnos' dick. Hypnos emits a small groan where he is, the rubbing through fabric now simply not enough as he lifts his skirt and shifts upon the bed so that his knees are brought further apart after hastily removing his undergarment. When flesh meets flesh as Hypnos takes himself in his hand, his cock steadily hardening, the scene flashes in his mind. Zagreus has claimed Hypnos' groin with his own hand, easily cupping the other almost casually, as if this all something with no consequence. Just an easy, easy diversion.

Hypnos strokes himself. A steady pace as his head lolls to the side of the pillow he is on, focusing on how Zagreus' hand moves to claim his prize deliberately slowly, teasing out the action of groping just to see Hypnos squirm and lip quiver. Hypnos has never been one for long, drawn out sexual encounters because it risks putting him to sleep but, _but,_ the thought of Zagreus prolonging his selfish ownership of Hypnos through such torment is superbly stimulating, as his gut coils in heat and his hand speeds it's ministrations. He can welcome Zagreus being a little more sadistic.

Hypnos always likes posing a challenge and then immediately eating his words. _'Is that all? I've gotten better fucks by shades_ ,' he would say, voice heavy with mock disappointment but betrayed on how it quivers. _'What a let down.'_

There's multiple ways Zagreus could entertain such a statement. The variety of it play in succession, overlaid into a mosaic of pure sensation and stirring thrill, that only the mind can make sense of. As Hypnos’ breath quickens at all the immediate bright reactions that wrack his body, the images and thoughts of what Zagreus might do assault him the most delightful way. Zagreus would smile at such a challenge, teeth decidedly sharper than usual.

Hypnos is turned, thrusted into the wall that was behind him with a particular delicious harshness before he can react, a side of his face planted against the cold tile with his hands splayed beside his head. Zagreus keeps him there with his forearm braced against Hypnos’ back, body pressed closer still so that Hypnos feels the heat radiating off of him as Zagreus takes a handful of Hypnos’ skirt and simply _pulls_ , his clasp proven just as effective as any sharp edge because the damned fabric _rips_. Hypnos makes some sort of noise, somewhere halfway through scandalized because Zagreus has torn a whole where his ass is at, and frenzied, because Zagreus has done so with one mere movement. 

Any ideas of berating Zagreus on his barbarism is drowned when the Prince grabs a hold of Hypnos’ rear, fingers forcefully digging themselves into his cheek as if Zagreus has manifested claws. Any passiveness from Zagreus’ previous fondling is lost entirely, replaced wholly with something relentless as he kneads and handles Hypnos to the point where the smaller God requires to lift himself onto his toes to accommodate Zagreus’ rough movements.

Hypnos whines, arching his back, desperate for any sort of friction his rear may experience with Zagreus’ front. The Prince does not yet allow Hypnos the luxury, as he leans his head downwards, breath a fire, as he whispers into Hypnos’ ear.

‘ _Rat,_ ’ Zagreus growls, so much so Hypnos can feel the rumbling of the Prince’s chest behind him. ‘ _Speak to me like that again and I’ll make sure to use your throat raw_ _—’_

—Hypnos with his back braced against the wall with hands clinging for any sort of purchase on the marble, Zagreus’ hands upon his hips with a punishing grip as his arms are slung under Hypnos’ knees, Hypnos’ ankles rested upon Zagreus’ shoulders as the Prince had just simply hoisted him upwards. Hypnos’ skirt is bunched at his hips, his underwear slung on one of Hypnos’ ankles as a forgotten garment as Zagreus pumps Hypnos with a ruthless pace. It does not matter if Hypnos is brought up against a wall, Zagreus could use Hypnos as a toy without, Hypnos lifted off his feet as if he were a mere sheath for Zagreus to fuck.

 _‘You were made for this,’_ Zagreus breathes, Hypnos’ brain on the verge of complete failure as all he can do is feel how Zagreus’ cock is buried within him. _‘You were made for taking cock. And you’ll take mine until you’ve forgotten completely the other’s you’ve laid with—’_

(In fumbling, quick movements does Hypnos move to summon a vial of oil, and with overly excited movements does he shake and spatter the contents of the vial onto one of his hands, reckless to the over abundance of oil he procured and careless when he discards the bottle afterwards as he settles once more. He takes his cock back into his fist, his other moistened hand slides further down, and he coaxes a finger inwards, desperate for any semblance of fullness as felt in the vision—)

—The Prince need not even bother exerting his own physical strength to keep Hypnos still. Zagreus would know how to tie his prey. With ropes that criss-cross and bisect across Hypnos’ kneeling form, arms secured at his back, rope tight against his body so that every time he takes a breath, he is acutely aware of his position and restraints, and of how small he is. On his knees, Zagreus stands as a giant with his shadow easily looming over the smaller God. Nonchalantly, the Prince tilts his head down at the other.

 _‘So, you commune with shades, then,’_ Zagreus asks conversationally, nudging with his foot at Hypnos’ weeping cock. _‘And how much do you charge for them to reach under your robe_ _—_ _’_

He cums like he’s been hit with a Godsdamned chariot. 

Hypnos’ back arches when he does so, face contorted as _some_ sound leaves him. Is it a garbled form of Zagreus’ name? Probably. His voice is desperate as he climaxes, cutting itself off with a sharp inhale that feels as though it wishes to make his lungs burst. When he falls limp as a sack, shallow breaths attempting to recuperate the body, his entire being feels depleted from everything he is. His mind is exhausted. His _dick_ is. There’s dots of sweat on his brow. He’s got cum on his hand and clothing. His other hand is still painted with a generous amount of lube. Sleeping for the next eternity is very tempting. 

His body is already settling itself to slumber, he can feel it. Hypnos needs to consciously will away the embrace of sleep by blinking rapidly at the darkness above as he moves his hands to lay weakly by his sides. He’s very sticky. A bath would do him good.

He still has enough faculties to further pursue unhelpful lines as thinking. Such as: Zagreus telling him to lick his own cum off his hands. Zagreus, who absolutely has more stamina than him, continuing to pump into him, despite Hypnos having grown especially sensitive, going still even when Hypnos’ vision blurs and he passes out. Zagreus— 

“Aphrodite give me strength,” he mutters to the empty area around him. And then, suddenly, the thought of Aphrodite does him good; he perks, because she would feel his feelings for Zagreus. As she feels the mortals and their lusts, as Hypnos feels the mortals and their sleep, so too would Aphrodite feel _his_ desires. His eye twitches.

“Don’t tell him anything.” Hypnos says, knowing the Goddess is in regular contact with Zagreus. She _would_ mention something about this. She would seek to _ruin_ him. Olympus must be laughing at him, he swears he can feel it as he feels his own filth stain him.

He should invest in an automatic cleaning spell. Surely one of those exist. Standing and dredging towards a bath feels like an impossibility, or a walk of shame, or both. 

(He is, miraculously, able to convince himself to seek a bath. He nearly drowns when he falls asleep in the warm water.)

* * *

Yeowch. Theseus.

“Yeowch,” Hypnos sympathizes. “Theseus.” 

“Theseus,” Zagreus nods solemnly, free from the marks that would have littered his body from the combined punishment of an unyielding chariot and pointy spear brought on during his failure. 

“Hero of Athens, Zagreus.” Hypnos tsks. “You gotta do better than _that,_ or else you’re just going to embarrass yourself, no matter how tempting it may be to get trampled by Theseus.”

And how tempting indeed, one that Hypnos has entertained once before. Theseus. Bull of Minos. _Yeah._ They make a good team.

Zagreus appears to be unconvinced, despite having just dueled the fearsome duo and would know first hand the synergy the heroes possess, both in combat and in the hypothetical spit roast they could give.

“I’m not sure _‘tempting’_ is the word I would use. Perhaps _‘disheartening’_ or even _‘exasperating.’_ Not really my kind of fun.” Zagreus secures his hands on his hips, cocks a brow down at Hypnos. 

“Then maybe jump out of the way when you see him charging towards you, yeah? You kinda need to use skill against a guy like Theseus, you know. It’s partially the reason why the guy has so many fans! Including _me._ ” Hypnos speaks the truth, his voice casual and offhand and expecting to create a reaction. 

Hypnos isn’t afraid to confess he mentions his allegiance to Theseus mostly to poke at Zagreus. He'll receive a scoff in turn, perhaps a hard _‘hah!’_ and then Zagreus responding how much he thinks Hypnos’ tastes need improving in some sarcastic and humorous reply. What he receives, instead, is Zagreus squinting minutely down at him, as if considering. His expression shifts, and Hypnos needs to get his eyes checked because he could almost assume Zagreus looks _devious_.

The Prince steps forward and, yup, still tall. Still wonderfully tall and big and stepping into Hypnos’ space and—Hypnos’ body has locked up on its own with thoughts having come to a screeching halt, and it is only for some blessed grace of some holy entity this side of the galaxy that Hypnos doesn’t take a measly step backwards and become cornered completely.

“Now, Hypnos,” Zagreus says, terribly easygoing and he has to be blind to not notice how Hypnos has become acutely, _painfully_ awake. “You’re starting to make me think you’d cheer for Theseus rather than me while I’m in the arena, mate.” 

Shit. Zagreus _could_ corner him, if he took a few more wonderful steps. He already restricts any route of escape by his presence alone, closer than usual, so easily capable of ceasing any miserable attempt at sidestepping Hypnos could try. 

_Dog turds dog turds dog turds dog turds_ —

“You must think very low of me. Of course I’d cheer for Theseus.” Hypnos is able to get out, after a moment of wrestling with his tongue. It’s one of those challenges. In an ideal world, Zagreus would take him up on it and grab a fistful of his hair and force him downwards. But alas.

Instead, Zagreus snorts. He steps _back,_ and Hypnos thinks dispairingly: _fuck the procession and any audience just use my throat already._

“I’ll take that as motivation instead as a blow to my pride. I’ll have to do better next time.” Zagreus says as Hypnos feels like he’s overheating. Zagreus leaves as gleefully as ever, Hypnos subtly moving his list to float strategically over his groin, and he catches from the corner of his eye a shade snickering, and he’s never been more inspired to manipulate an individual’s death certificate to become Cerberus’ chew toy so bad in his life. 

~

It’s becoming a regular shame, now, retreating to Erebus and having a wank. 

Should it be worrying that he wishes, just slightly, in those secluded areas in his mind, that Zagreus retained more of his Dad’s less desirable qualities, such as being just a _teensy_ bit callous? Just a little bit. A pinch. Enough that the Prince makes his size just that more looming, his strength just that more apparent. Push Hypnos around a little. Is it really too much to ask for Zagreus to grab his ass and fondle him as if Hypnos were so beneath him, that Zagreus felt the need to remind him of his place as a pleasure object in public? Ugh.

He whines at the idea of Zagreus having taken up his challenge, audience be damned. He takes his regular residence on his bed, massaging himself to full hardness as he envisions the scene. 

Zagreus blocks his route of escape, and their roles as predator and prey are taken so naturally Hypnos entertains it still by the idea of taking the roles literally in every sense; Zagreus stalking him in the halls, his plan set and Hypnos oh so tragically helpless as his hunter closes in on his target. Hypnos knows himself well enough that he would be poor sport to hunt, perpetually lethargic and most likely asleep when he’s caught. But caught he will be, his body the prize that Zagreus won’t think to waste as he claims Hypnos with a grip that speaks well enough that Hypnos’ new lease in life is for Zagreus’ amusement. 

Cheering for Theseus. An adequate enough transgression, and it fills the role of the inciting incident for provoking Zagreus to act suitably enough. The fact it’s such a prosaic statement that aggravates Zagreus makes it that much more intense. How _unbelievably_ petty, and Hypnos is simply forced and expected to take the Prince’s retribution, the man simply itching to see Hypnos keen in his grip that he would use any excuse to enact something so demeaning.

Really, Hypnos should know better, as Zagreus drags him down by his hair and his chest practically caves in when it meets the Prince’s thighs. Over the knee, upon a seat that has inexplicably spawned for the sole sake of becoming a pedestal of Hypnos’ shame, and Zagreus jostles Hypnos with a delectable coarseness that renders the smaller helpless to his fate.

Hypnos grabs onto Zagreus’ leg for purchase, and grunts when the Prince takes his ass in a firm grip, squeezing, just to further his point that, yeah, he is about to do what Hypnos’ position implies. Hypnos likes to think Zagreus would appreciate an expression of disbelief to swim across his face. Maybe the shades, having waited in line prior but are now subject to the scene in front of them, would appreciate it too. 

He’s only able to receive a glance of Zagreus’ raised arm before there’s a sudden _spike_ of fire ignited on his still clothed ass. He yelps on instinct, the sharp sensation mellowing out as Zagreus leaves his palm still on Hypnos’ rear, giving it another squeeze, reaffirming brightly of Hypnos’ position has he feels his cheeks (on both ends) begin to redden. Hypnos looks over his shoulder, Zagreus’ face smug and despicable, and he’s waiting for a response. 

_‘I sleep while standing,’_ Hypnos sneers. _‘Unfortunately your strikes will come to naught, I don’t need to sit, and you won’t have the satisfaction of seeing me wince when I try to use my poor, pelted posterior.’_

Zagreus just rolls his eyes. _Fucker._

_‘Your attitude needs work, Hypnos.’_

He finishes the statement by raising his arm, before it descends with a harsh _whack_ against Hypnos’ soon-to-be pelted posterior. Zagreus starts slow, further emphasizes the situation, before his pace builds. The general ambiance of the hall is morphed, no longer the quiet eeriness of before, as it is now punctuated by intermittent _thwacks._ The sound is impossibly loud in Hypnos’ ears, something unavoidable as it invades his hearing and takes siege to his thinking; he can’t disassociate from the physical reality that he’s literally across the Prince’s knees and getting _spanked_ by him. 

(In actual physical reality, Hypnos whines at the distinct lack of a sore ass.) 

Zagreus continues his onslaught, his enjoyment of the scene radiating off him in waves as Hypnos’ body begins to react more severely on instinct: his knuckles are turning white, his legs are twitching, and the noises he’s making are becoming louder, willing to escape from being held behind clenched teeth. His mind is just as affected as his rear—growing increasingly heated with each smack. Like his brain is boiled in his skull, Hypnos’ thoughts simmer into incoherence. 

He isn’t given respite, even as he starts to wince more prominently. His groans are beginning to twinge in ache, his hands raising on impulse to protect himself before he thinks better of it, and Zagreus’ persistent smacks have long since become louder than Hypnos’ heart. The sound of it drowns any other noise, demanding every aspect of Hypnos’ attention against his will and it only becomes exemplified when Zagreus only pauses the torture to lift Hypnos’ skirt and pull down his underwear before promptly continuing. 

The crackle, so sharp and loud, birthed from Zagreus’ open palm slapping Hypnos’ rear without the barrier of a tunic, course through the entirety of his being with a vengeance. His body stiffens at it, as does a very particular part of him, and his gasps and chokes are making themselves more prominent as all feeling is centralized to his ass and how much it stings as if encased with thorns. 

He’s at the point of keening and attempting to find a place of focus when he makes his mistake: he glances upwards, only to be slapped across the face due to the fact that’s a mass of translucent turquoise that can only be derived from a particularly large accumulation of shades. There’s eyes on him, a veritable sea of them presented as the shines of a thousand glittering optic lamps. There’s amusement, seeping from them in waves that seek to drown him, mutterings of ridicule and delight, and it must really cushion the blow of being dead to see Sleep in such a position. Well, Hypnos is here to please.

Zagreus is ever uncaring for the theater of ghosts, his strikes never halting in their continued debasement and the mounting degradation of this whole situation has gone straight Hypnos’ dick as a wallop as harsh as Zagreus’ smacks. He’s hard, near unbearably so, and there isn’t enough friction to be garnered from how Hypnos’ body reacts to the smacks, the measly contact his cock is able to receive from grazing Zagreus’ thigh from the impacts. He lets out a zealous whine, long since abandoning any attempt of decency, having it been so cruelly stripped from him since the start. There really isn’t much dignity to be had when he’s over the Prince’s knees like this anyway, so no use in trying.

 _‘Welcome to hell!’_ Hypnos manages through his choking, focusing on his audience and giving them a jolly wave as he can just discern through the haze of his vision a group of them laugh. Yeah, he’s good at his job, even during the midst of such spiteful punishment. 

Zagreus is likewise entertained, if his snort is anything to go by. And this man has no concept of relief, nor any semblance of fatigue because his pace has not let up for the entirety of this charade. His ass is definitely an entirely new colour, by now. Hypnos isn’t quite sure how much more he can reasonably take, feeling near to his literal boiling point because his whole body is a aflame with his rear being especially raw. The crescendo of the smacks are deafening, the eyes of others are as daggers upon his form, and Zagreus’ grip is a clamp that would never allow him to wriggle at any amount, even as Hypnos’ body automatically attempts to cower from the onslaught. 

The corners of his vision become marred with tears when he eventually admits total defeat. _‘Zagreus,'_ he pleads, his chest constricting on a sob. _‘Ple-e-e-ase.'_

The word is drawn out, extended with that sob that escapes him, desperation a coil that smothers him, and this is something he knows will regenerate slower than usual simply because Zagreus wills it to be. When Zagreus doesn’t immediately stop, the strikes are practically sharper due to it, Hypnos all but gives weeps that wrack his entire body as more broken pleads escape him. This fucker, this absolute asshole, and in reality Hypnos’ strokes continues to hasten as he grips onto his bed with an iron grip.

Hypnos nearly does not notice when Zagreus actually does let up. His rear throbs regardless, as if the strikes continue, and he needs to manually collect his thoughts as his body begins to lay limp as all vitality is drained from him. His face is blotchy to an uncomfortable degree, and he allows himself a large, shuddering breath in hopes to recuperate.

Zagreus, obviously, doesn’t allow him such a luxury. Hypnos can only yelp when he is unceremoniously shoved off the Prince’s lap, and, well, he was wrong: Zagreus delights when Hypnos winces as he lands on his poor, pelted posterior. Hypnos isn’t able to finish the thought of how much his ass hurts when he’s being dragged by his hair again.

He grunts when his face meets Zagreus’ still covered groin, blinking as his cheek is cushioned against what is, indeed, a hard member. He knows what’s expected from him when Zagreus moves his hips to further grind his dick in Hypnos’ face, and when Hypnos looks up from where he is, he sees the Prince’s eyes glint with something unmistakably craving and selfish. 

Hypnos opens his mouth, gladly mouthing and licking Zagreus through his clothing, mapping the edges and length of his dick as he lifts a hand to cup at his balls, fingers still trembling from the aftershocks from his pelting. He buries his face inwards, breathing in Zagreus and what he has to offer, sucking through fabric for his taste before he’s pulled back again.

A Godsdamned rod of a dick, one that’ll easily cascade down Hypnos’ throat with a savage presence, breaching with Zagreus’ enthusiastic thrusts, Hypnos’ head in his hands as he pulls the smaller back and force with such little effort.

His gag reflex will be forcefully quelled, his tears returned with a vengeance and he’ll be very intimately acquainted with Zagreus’ pubic mound as he’ll be kept stationary with Zagreus’ full length gorged down his throat, the Prince indulging in the moistness and warmth that is Hypnos’ mouth. He may as well have become a mortal, with how it feels like he’s choking.

_‘You’re so good, Hypnos.’_

Zagreus’ words are spoken in a breathless murmur, his gasps a captivating thing, and Hypnos releases into his hand with a similar exhale. Just noticeably louder. 

He groans on his bed. The vision eventually disperses itself as smoke, lingering as an aftertaste and his mind doesn’t come back to him, lost entirely as all he does is lay limply on his bed. Relief pours from him from his climax, exhaling once more in a long, drawn out sigh as he considers his filth staining him. Clean up spell. He should look that one up, as he summons a wipe to haphazardly and lazily swipe himself into some semblance of purity. Zagreus has such a wonderful, tight grip, squeezing and imprisoning and Hypnos thoughtlessly imagines how Zagreus may embrace him with arms curled around Hypnos’ smaller form after such an arduous session, lips upon Hypnos’ forehead. _‘You were so good, Hypnos.’_ He would praise. 

His closing thought when slumber takes him is wondering if Zagreus would enjoy it if his own etiquette was flipped onto him; as in, Hypnos calling him _‘sir.’_

* * *

It would be apparent to anyone who has spent any amount of time in the House, that Zagreus and Megaera have _some_ sort of history. One that persists beyond their shared pastime of regularly engaging in the dance of killing each other intermittently. As intimate as continued shared bloodshed may be, there lies an unspoken, and fairly obvious, air that their dance probably included a softened surface. A cushioned one, one that is mostly used for sleep. Or probably any flat enough surface. They fucked. They totally did.

A bygone, ancient time only spoken in the whispers of the most ill-advised shades who are heedless to the fact Megaera has no qualms punting some obnoxious ghosts into the more gruesome corners of Tartarus. Only Dusa is allowed the exalted privilege of being able to breach such conversation with her. 

Some physical relationship turned sour, is the general consensus. Hypnos puts his obols on a mellow _‘wanna fuck?’_ business relationship that had fell apart due to a slow-creeping, festering little thing called _feelings_. Zagreus enticed an infestation of attachment and Megaera was content in calling in the exterminator. It was—painfully awkward when their prior agreement of _‘boinking with strictly no devotion’_ crumbled. Megaera was more terrifying than usual. Zagreus adopted the appearance of a kicked dog. The air when the two interacted afterwards was thick in unspoken arguments and frustration and Hypnos, tragically not yet infatuated with the Prince, filled the role of _‘please stop moping you’re making everyone uncomfortable’_ for Zagreus instead of _‘I can give you the best rebound of your life’._

The two of them are on better terms now, though, that much is clear. Megaera’s default expression isn't scowling anymore in his presence. Zagreus is confident when speaking with her. Why, they paint a picture of being _friends_ again. Killing each other must be good catharsis. 

And it is obvious to anyone with half a brain that in any sort of physical relationship, Megaera would be the dominant partner. She wields a _whip,_ for Gods’ sake. And there had been the occasion Hypnos thought of that very whip, simply mused on how it releases a sharp _crack_ when used, and how it could potentially sound and feel when used on that part of Hypnos’ anatomy that he uses to sit on. Yeah, Meg’s exquisite and wonderfully scary, but the thought that invades Hypnos’ mind now is the role Zagreus played when those two were together. It’s a picture that paints Zagreus with his knees brought to his chest, legs pushed apart by the hands of a Fury, the Prince’s hands bound with a hide whip and mouth muffled with a discarded piece of garment to keep him quiet as Megaera makes good use of her convenient and convincing strap.

Yeah, that’s pretty good. The imagined _whines_ of Zagreus are an addictive sound Hypnos would pay big bucks to hear in person. Crimson cheeks, moist lips parted as he continues in shallow gasps, those tits of his moving as a woman’s with each thrust, voice only coming back to him to murmur a desperate _‘Hypnos.’_

Hypnos likes larger and taller people, Hypnos likes _Zagreus,_ and he's quite content and appreciative of power being completely stripped from him and being at the mercy of others. Of Zagreus. And he is comfortable enough using stronger words for that, such as _debased_ and _shamed,_ and _‘Sleep Taken and Repeatedly Debauched by the Prince and his Magnum Cock’_ is just a really great title for some erotica.

And so too is _‘The Prince Taken as he Sleeps by Sleep Himself.’_ Zagreus looks good when he sleeps, obviously. He looks good whenever. But there’s something very distinct when he sleeps, and it’s not just Hypnos’ ego. On the very few occasions Hypnos has seen the Prince slumber before he himself went asleep, Zagreus’ face was sculpted of marble, peaceful upon the cushion he laid upon. Tranquil. Vulnerable. A magnet for putting Hypnos in a trance that was only broken when he realized he had leaned forward to clear a strand of hair from the Prince’s face. He’d almost be tempted to pull another Endymion and use a spell so that Zagreus sleeps with his eyes open so he could admire him fully.

Zagreus looks good doing anything, probably even while dying, and considering what Hypnos is the personification _of_ —well, was there _really_ any doubt that Hypnos wouldn't entertain the idea of taking the Prince as he slumbers? It’s an opportunity he intends to exploit, as he continues to stroke himself to the idea.

Zagreus on his bed, face down and haphazardly spread over the covers as he slumbers. Just _ripe_ for the picking, as Hypnos settles himself just above the sleeping Prince’s knees, languidly tracing his hands up Zagreus’ thighs. As the rest of him, Zagreus’ thighs are well defined and well sculpted, indicative of the lifestyle he keeps and wondrous to touch as Hypnos examines the finer parts of Zagreus’ anatomy. He slides a hand upwards, each on each thigh, moving to his eventual prize of those supple cheeks the Prince owns, of which would simply be a _crime_ not to fondle. 

He sighs contentedly as he begins his massage, kneading into Zagreus’ rear, and he smirks at seeing the Prince’s face twitch as he continues to sleep. Zagreus wears a great pair of tights, snug as a second skin and he is especially awful for allowing his tunic to hang over his posterior and hide how his leggings give a poor demonstration of clothing, as they leave nothing to the imagination. No underwear, the _harlot,_ and heat spikes through him from the thought of Zagreus dueling his foes without, and he must be awfully confident in his ass being a distraction. Hypnos presses and squeezes at his convenience, knowing he accentuates Zagreus’ wet dream with how the Prince intermittently twitches and grunts. His thumbs circles onto the cheeks, before he slides downwards still and gropes at Zagreus’ balls, tickling each within his fingers. 

Hypnos slips the tights off of Zagreus’ gracious rear with some maneuvering, his cheeks practically thanking Hypnos with how they jiggle at the release, and its a wonder how the Prince is even able to fit his ass in these. He returns to massaging the Prince’s posterior, the contact of skin against skin providing a sparkle of thrill to buzz through him, and Hypnos spreads Zagreus’ cheek to admire the man’s hole, as delectable as any heavenly feast, and Hypnos circles a thumb lazily around the ring before bringing his face forward.

His lips kiss upon the rim, burying his face inwards as Hypnos slips his tongue out to caress the puckered ring. He inhales as a starving man, gorging himself as his lips and jaw move in tandem as he continues to graze and lick and suck, hands still continuing their squeezing as Hypnos rejoices on how Zagreus’ thigh has twitched from the stimulus. 

It is a burden, almost, retracting, but the difficulties are lessened when Hypnos takes stock of how Zagreus’ hole glisten with his saliva, as twinkling stars on a most enchanting ring, and Hypnos is content to summon his ever suitable vial of lubricant. He moistens his fingers before further wetting Zagreus’ rim, and coaxes a digit inwards.

Hypnos is encouraged eternally through Zagreus’ shudders, of how the Prince’s breath increases and his face contorts as Hypnos works his fingers inwards, curling and scissoring, Zagreus’ ring loosening so freely and how could Hypnos deny such an invitation? In sleep, Zagreus’ face has grown a rose shade, lips parted as he feels unconsciously the sensations of Hypnos using him, the moisture of his open mouth just as tempting as his dripping hole.

Hypnos rubs his cock leisurely between Zagreus’ cheeks—

(And in reality, Hypnos desperately fucks into a pillow secured between his thighs, humping with a frantic pace.)

—Before he tempts the head of his dick inwards, and when he slips inside, easing further still, slowly enough that Zagreus still does not wake, Zagreus makes just the _cutest_ little gasp. Hypnos answers in kind, exclaiming softly through a long-winded exhale when he is buried within Zagreus, the warmth and tightness of the Prince’s ass further enticing the flame in his gut, urging his hair to stand on end in titillation. 

He stays like that, soaking in the sensation of being inside Zagreus, gazing ~~lovingly~~ ~~fondly~~ looking down at Zagreus with none of those mushy feelings, nope, merely admiring the sleeping one’s face that has formed into picture of bliss. He could fall asleep like this, cock warmed inside of Zagreus, the Prince then awakening to his dick still inside him, the expression he would wear when he realizes what that fullness he feels is, how loose he’s become, looking over his shoulder so scandalized and Hypnos would drink it all in, infinitely smug.

Or he could begin to pump, slowly easing in and out of Zagreus’ hole as the larger still slept, his pace done slowly at first but increasing with each thrust. Zagreus’ shivers becoming more apparent at the increasing invigoration, either waking mid way through or still as a rock because not even Tartarus breaking could wake him. 

They’re all, such, _such_ enticing outcomes. Waking during, groggy and unable to comprehend the intense, all encompassing feelings that wrack through his body. His expression of confusion, then rapid understanding, and then complete surrender. Or sleeping throughout, with Hypnos cumming inside the Prince, leaving his entrance a dripping mess as streaks lazily exit him when he is finished. Zagreus waking in a sticky heap, sore at all angles and boundlessly exhausted.

He muses on the amount of trust Zagreus gives him to literally use him as he sleeps, the ease in which Zagreus allows himself to be so defenseless in Hypnos’ presence and it is a free boost in ego and—did he really just climax to that? To the idea of _trust?_

He breathes as his body flutter in the aftershocks, re-centering his focus as he looks downwards and sees his new freshly stained pillow still straddled between his thighs. A poor substitute for what must be the most supple ass of all of Tartarus, and Megaera had it so, _so_ good. As the luster of climaxing makes its slow exit, slithering away as an antagonistic serpent, Hypnos thinks blearily of laying on top of Zagreus’ sagged body, still heartily buried within the Prince as he kisses the other’s shoulders, basking in Zagreus’ stuttering breaths. Zagreus groggily turning his head to look over his shoulder, tired, but in bliss as he smiles up at Hypnos— 

Oh, he _is_ cursed by Aphrodite, as he is by the Fates. That terrible _witch._

* * *

Hypnos is snorting in amusement at how this guy was drunk off his ass and thought he could win a match against a bear, even after shouting the power-inducing words of _‘fuck bears,’_ when he catches a glance of Zagreus walking past towards the lounge. Bear-chow is actually lamenting to him, something about he’s too young to be here being thirty-years young (his words, not Hypnos’), how he hasn’t lived life, blah blah, boo hoo, and Hypnos thinks it was awfully considerate of him to give the bear a free meal. He tunes him out, even as other shades eventually get him to shut up, and the ghost’s droning distracted Hypnos to the fact Zagreus walks with a companion; Thanatos. He would have returned his attention to his post like a good servant of the House if Zagreus hadn’t noticed him, smiled in his direction and waved, before he went back to speaking with Thanatos.

Thanatos, typical to his Too Cool For You persona, doesn’t look at Hypnos, but that doesn’t matter. They’re both gone from his view in a manner of seconds, and even Zagreus needs a break from constantly dying by relaxing with Death himself. Zagreus’ smile is still imprinted in Hypnos’ mind. Small but still reaching his eyes, so fully genuine in his contentedness at giving Hypnos a greeting, so casual as if he need not even think about his feelings because he’s just at peace with their connection and—yeah, Hypnos is staring stupidly at nothing and he needs to screw his head on correctly because this over-analyzing makes him feel as though he’s some hopeless mortal youth. 

He hears Thanatos’ voice clearly in his head, _‘Get back to work,’_ which proves to be just as inspiring as it usually is: none at all, and his mind wanders as he thinks to take a nap as the words on his list swirl as a most unappetizing soup, and then he thinks back to his brother, and back to Zagreus, and how the two were always close.

He focuses on the words _'asphyxiation from choking on a spoon’_ on his list for the poor fool in front of him, willing for some sort of focal point as his mind thinks to his brother, and Zagreus, and how they were always close. 

Oh, _come on._

It was heartless enough to have him crave the attention of Zagreus already, but to make him so jealous of his _own brother?_ That’s a new low. As if Hypnos did not already have a well organised list of the things Thanatos is and does that he is envious of. 

And it isn’t even out of the realm of possibility, for Thanatos and Zagreus to… bond further. Zagreus has mentioned Thanatos’ selfless, and perhaps a little stupid, actions of clearing wretches with him during his runs. Disguised as friendly competition and Hypnos remembers how Zagreus’ face turned affectionate when describing to Hypnos his brother’s actions, how he had turned from being grouchy to amicable during said encounters. Hypnos could barely swim through the thoughts of how Thanatos risks getting stomped on by Master Hades as if he were a gnat for being so dangerously altruistic. Thanatos, Mister _Hypnos If You Do Not Go Back To Your Station Right Now I Swear To The Gods,_ would not risk his place so brazenly for just anyone. He wouldn’t do so for Hypnos. Which, well, isn’t saying too much, but the fact that Thanatos does so for Zagreus is a testament to their relationship. 

They’re friends, duh. They enjoy the finer drinks of nectar, they lounge, they fight together, and couples who have enough synergy to literally be able to cover each other’s back in combat are usually ones with strong foundations and Thanatos _would_ be the better choice between the two of them, he _fights_ and he _doesn’t_ fall asleep where he stands and does Zagreus find that annoying that Hypnos does that?—

Alright. 

Work has never been more appealing, truly. Why muse unreliably about how Thanatos has _this_ better than him, and why think of the improbability of not only Zagreus ever wanting to lay with him but then _staying_ afterwards, when Hypnos can instead ensure the accuracy of his ledger? There’s no deeply seated ache in this body, no siree, just the want to continue work because Hypnos would not be so frivolous as to fester on a presumed relationship between his brother and best friend as if that affects him like _come on he would be happy for them_ _—_

— _‘Heartache’_ is the cause of death that he catches when he attempts productivity, and that’s just so intensely inane he literally looks to the ceiling and mouths a _‘fuck off’_ to the Fates. 

He de-summons his list, pulls down his _do not disturb_ eye mask and goes to sleep.

* * *

The great stomping that wakes him is first mistaken to be the earth breaking apart, and during that transition from slumber to alertness, Hypnos’ literal first thought is a panicked _oh fuck oh shit the Titans are back_. He’s taken from slumber so fast and so sharply he almost becomes dizzy, but his awareness is heightened fully when he sees who is responsible for the rude awakening.

Master Hades has just marched from the Pool of Styx. Fuming and infinitely more imposing and terrifying than an erupting volcano. Shades smartly make themselves scarce, Hypnos cowers against the wall behind him to make himself less noticeable than a shadow, as to not become a target of the Master’s calamitous indignation, so the Master need not feel the need to use Hypnos has a form of stress relief. Hypnos pictures thusly as Master Hades tearing him apart and then using his blood to paint a therapeutic picture of Zagreus drowning in the Styx. 

Master Hades proceeds past without a glance. His steps make the walls of the House tremble as he moves towards his private chambers, dust being disturbed from the ceiling from the force of it, and the _slam_ of his chamber doors has Hypnos raise his hands over his head in fear that the whole structure will collapse. Hades’ presence and soundtrack eventually peeter away as distant thunder and the House is eerily quiet when he can no longer be heard, the air burdened with a physical sense of pressure. While no one in the Underworld _technically_ needs to breath, everyone holds a breath regardless. 

The air is thick to the point he may as well be swimming in lava when he is able to will his legs to move. As Hypnos waddles to peak around the corner towards the Master’s chamber doors, he feels as though at any moment he’s going to experience being skewered by Master Hades’ spear. He stares for a moment longer, the doors as a bomb that could explode at any moment. When it doesn’t, doors still and no sounds of the existence ending beyond it, Hypnos turns his gaze to Achilles, who stands just as stunned. 

When their eyes meet, Hypnos points to the chamber doors, a silent question of _‘did you see that?’_ To which the hero nods, confirming to Hypnos that no, he didn’t just hallucinate all that.

The regular ambiance of the House returns slowly, but never coming back as its full self, crawling out of hiding, it likewise afraid that the Master may return with a vengeance. Hypnos returns to his post, his bewilderment turning into realization, then he’s _dazzled._

That mad _cunt,_ he did it. Zagreus forced his Dad into early retirement. Holy Gods.

He stares at the Pool. The still redness of its surface, the calmest thing in the vicinity, fully recovered from the Master’s entrance, and Hypnos continues to gawk. The Pool is still, Master Hades has been _felled,_ by _Zagreus,_ after numerous attempts and the Prince has finally bested his father. He got out. He must have. Parading upon the Surface and Hypnos wonders, slackly, if the Olympians have greeted him. With cheer and merriment and probably an obscene amount of alcohol, and he must be overflowing with pride. As if the sun itself resided beneath his skin, Zagreus must be literally glowing with joy, a picture of accomplishment so strong that Hypnos feels a swell in his chest from the mere thought of it.

The Pool is free of the disturbance of a rising body, and Hypnos cannot fathom how this impossible dream has come into fruition. And then, he balks at his own thought, at such a lack of faith and he feels suddenly sour at himself. Zagreus doesn’t deserve _that._

Hypnos can see shades stare at the Pool as he does, whispers begin among them, the story of the rebel Prince a widespread and well known thing for all denizens of the House. Hypnos does not know how much time passes, before the actual sounds of the House return fully. He doesn’t realize Orpheus has started singing again. 

Hypnos doesn’t know what he feels when the House is returned to some semblance of normalcy. He’s— _thrilled,_ sure, at Zagreus’ success, but what comes with it is the implications of his continued absence. Something bitter plants itself within him, something he still can’t rightly place, as he wonders if Zagreus would have a reason to come back, now. He hasn’t ever really been fond of the Underworld, even before his quest, and he had brazenly started said quest without a goodbye. It would not be out of the realm of possibility for him to continue such a trend. 

Hypnos thinks to abandon his post in search of Thanatos, Nyx, Megaera, Achilles, hells, _Dusa;_ anyone who could shed more light on the situation and, with the case of Thanatos and Mom, if it is possible to actually get eyes on the man, or even communicate.

That line of thinking is halted, however, as he sees a specific name show appear on the list.

_Prince Zagreus - Blunt force trauma to the head, caused from stepping on a gardening rake._

Absolutely, fucking, unbelievable. 

He’s stunned. Speechless, almost, if Hypnos were capable of such a thing. A gardening implement. A mortal invention for the cultivation of food. Zagreus. _Zagreus._

He imagines it. The pure, undiluted glee of victory, Zagreus fulfilled after vanquishing his Dad and taking his first proper steps on the Surface. Wonderment of the most pure kind, Zagreus having always taken an interest in the worlds he has never had the chance to step foot in. A confidence brought on from his victory that will prove fatal, as he saunters onwards to exploration, head in the clouds and invincible, before, suddenly, his skull is cracked open.

There’s movement in the Pool, ripples that expand and then Zagreus emerges from the crimson tide, shaking himself from the blood. Hypnos purposely gives him an expression of _‘are you serious?’_

And Zagreus responds with one of _‘unfortunately.’_

Zagreus, thankfully, does not dredge with a forlorn slouch, as he had when he had first faced and failed against his Dad. Must be the residual euphoria of beating the Master in the first place that he walks so casually.

Hypnos cocks a brow when Zagreus reaches him, one that is clear in conveying that yes, Hypnos already knows what happened.

Zagreus sighs, conceding, placing his hands on his hips. He’s smiling, despite everything, and Hypnos returns it. Zagreus speaks. “You don’t need to say anything. I know. I should look where I’m stepping.” 

“This is a tragedy of the greatest kind,” Hypnos says, battling snickers. Which is becoming increasingly more difficult, since the man is now in front of him. “And I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, I really don’t.”  
  
“Looks like you might end up doing both.” Zagreus speaks as if he’s entertaining a child, and Hypnos doesn’t blame him. _A rake! He got fucked up by a_ rake!

“Because I probably will.” Hypnos can feel his body begin to shake from the funnies. “People are going to think you’re doing this on purpose. Do you like how it feels to regenerate, or something? You don’t need to compile a list of every conceivable way there is to die, that’s _my_ job!”

Zagreus gives a very exaggerated eye roll as if he wasn’t bested by a gardening tool used to clear debris. 

Time for bargaining. “Then let’s all call it a day and say my fantastic accidental self-slaughter was an act of generosity as I was trying to help you and your list.” Zagreus tries.

And time for a reality check. “That’s even more embarrassing than the truth, no wonder you have no sense of self-preservation if stuff like this is what you consider ‘bright.’” Hypnos says. 

“Awful little man.” Zagreus shakes his head. “Speaking of bright, and speaking of poor decisions, I’ve got a little something for you.” 

Zagreus raises a hand to summon forth a square shaped bottle, orange nectar within practically glowing with the same presence as the lava in Asphodel. Zagreus presents it as if it is truly just another vial of nectar, and not its extremely more valuable, and delicious, cousin. Hypnos stares as he makes sense of it.

Ambrosia? Fucking _ambrosia?_ Are they married?

This has to be some kind of joke. Poor decisions indeed. 

Hypnos does not yet reach for it. He scoffs, unbelieving. “What am I, a messenger pigeon? You can give this to Thanatos yourself.”

“It isn’t for Thanatos.” Zagreus scoffs back, seemingly genuinely bewildered Hypnos would say such a thing. His next words are spoken as if Hypnos is particularly stupid. “It’s for you. As in, I give full ownership over to you and it is now your property. Because it is a gift.” 

Said gift is still seated within Zagreus’ palm with an increasing presence, and suddenly, Hypnos feels as though Zagreus’ blunder with the rake is second rate to the fact Hypnos is literally intimidated by a bottle. 

Hypnos reaches out to claim the feast in the bottle, slowly. “You’re a cruel man, Prince. Pulling me into such debt.” 

“ _‘Gift,’_ noun: something given voluntarily _without payment in return,”_ Zagreus completes the bottle’s journey into Hypnos’ hand by practically forcing it into his palms. “You don’t think very highly of me, do you, mate?”  
  
“Of course I don’t, you just got thwacked upside the head by a _rake._ ” Hypnos cradles the prize, the power within the exquisite sustenance emanating through the bottle itself and tingling against Hypnos’ palms. “And you _died_ from it.”

“We’ll start referring to this _incident_ as an accomplishment, so that my ego won’t crumble completely.”

“Yeah, an accomplishment of being the greatest flop.” The ambrosia is warm and beating as a living thing. “Come on. Let’s soothe that blow, drink this with me?” 

Hypnos lifts the bottle and gives it small shake to have the contents within to swirl as an impossible temptation, brows quirked. 

“I would love to.” Oh, Zagreus’ eyes have gone _soft._ That’s not fair. “But maybe if I’m quick enough, _he_ won’t even realize I’ve come back.” 

He enunciates ‘he’ with a tilt of the head, pointing towards his Dad’s still empty work desk. One track mind, eh, and apparently impervious to the literal invaluable treasures of life. And ambrosia. Zagreus is turned to leave, readying already for another round of clobbering and maybe death. He’s been getting pretty far, nowadays. 

“You’re going already?” 

Why did his voice have to come out like that? Hypnos literally cringes at it, at that tone of— _sniveling._ Good Gods, that’s embarrassing. 

“Of course.” Zagreus says, turning to look back at him. His expression changes to concern and Hypnos becomes even _more_ embarrassed. “Something the matter?”  
  
“Don’t you think you need to refuel?” He attempts, another coaxing with the ambrosia, but it proves just as successful as the first.

Zagreus is smiling again. Damn it. “I appreciate it. But it’s for you, you should be able to enjoy it yourself, mate.” 

And he leaves, and Hypnos is left looking as he goes. And not even at his ass, either, merely watching him leave to go and have a merry jaunt in the plains of Tartarus. Hypnos looks down to the bottle still in his hands, its radiance nearly as bright as Zagreus’ smile.

Ambrosia. Fucking _ambrosia._

~

Ambrosia courses through him as a stampede through the heavens, a bottle of concentrated stardust and he could almost be tempted to say it makes him feel as though he could take on Master Hades himself. Zagreus clearly made a mistake, giving it away, and Hypnos can’t admit to having any sort of tolerance to the fervency the bottle gives, considering he’s only had a sip. 

He smacks his lips and lets out an exhale of satisfaction, leaning against a cushion that is nearly as big as he is, as he looks to the void expanse of Erebus. He lays on his bed with one leg swung over the edge, lazily swinging it as he nestles the bottle of ambrosia within his grip. 

It’s still warm to the touch, predictably. Zagreus is probably near the gate to the Surface. Or even returned to the House and restarting. He’s been getting further, perfecting each run, learning and adapting and he’s—really gonna do it. Prove all them naysayers wrong, and everything, show the universe what he’s worth. 

Would Zagreus be legitimately annoyed at him if Hypnos expressed genuine surprise at the fact? It’s like some far away dream that still needs a couple of years to come into fruition, and yet, it appears to be actively happening. It isn’t so much he _doubts_ Zagreus it’s more… well, it’s more that—he’s… 

Oh, Gods, he has to get _sentimental._

Zagreus has always been a constant. That dastardly little thing Hypnos could always count on, no matter what. That presence he could literally lean on, whose room is basically a second abode, he who Hypnos trusts explicable. The very one who is getting further to the Surface, whose absences may stretch longer still, until— 

(The Olympians don’t consort with those beneath them, after all.)

This might actually kill him. Like, actually, and he remembers brightly that one cause of death; _heartache_. His life really is just one tragedy after another, and he would prefer a literal heart attack instead. 

This would be infinitely easier if these feelings were purely physical. Hypnos can deal with _those,_ with the much appreciated help with his friends in Elysium. But it becomes decidedly harder when he still can’t stop thinking of a certain frustrating Prince even when with those said friends. If not so burdened with these ruining _feelings_ , Hypnos could probably give Zagreus a proposition of a night of amorous congress and _wham_ , done. And then they could be on their merry way.

But Zagreus just had to go ahead and be so terribly kind to the point it gives Hypnos a headache. Who, let alone a _God,_ would hinder themselves to assist the ghosts of mortals? _‘It’s the right thing to do. And if no one else will, then I will.’_ He said when Hypnos asked what's the deal with his knack for going out of his way to speak with the likes of Sisyphus and Patroclus and Eurydice. What does he possibly have to gain in doing so, other than diverting needlessly from his quest. And apparently it’s just the right thing to do. Chivalry is dead because Zagreus keeps dying.

Zagreus and his stupid complementary eyes. Zagreus and his stupid tolerance. Zagreus and his stupid heart stopping smile. Zagreus and his stupid propensity to put himself in danger for others. Zagreus and his stupid habit of calling people _‘mate’_ and _where_ did he even pick that up he’s literally the only person Hypnos has heard say it and _Zagreus and his stupid cute quirks._

Even after so many failures, after dying numerous times, he still retains it all. He still chooses to be Zagreus and his stupid kind self and it’s driving Hypnos _insane._

And Hypnos _lo_ _—_ and why Hypnos _lov_ _—_ that four letter L word. He can't say it. To name something is to give it power.

Life really isn't simple. If it were, Hypnos need only wank and be done with it. Instead, he has to deal with the resulting crushing loneliness after these increasingly self-pitying corn shucking sessions. There isn’t much relief to bask in when the afterglow is snuffed as a candle with the ensuing smoke mocking him. 

The ambrosia in his hand is still warm, but he can’t bring himself to continue drinking it. Not without a drinking buddy. He de-summons the item into incorporeal storage indefinitely, barely drank from, and Hypnos sighs a large enough exhale that it drains his entire body, and he curls in on himself and goes to sleep.

  
  


* * *

“... and you know what she says to me then? _‘I want to speak with your manager’_ and _that_ wakes me up, because when chumps say stuff like that it really has the potential to be the funniest thing for the next century,” Hypnos continues, pacing back and forth on that most scenic balcony just beyond Zagreus’ training yard, the Prince sitting with legs over the sheer drop, turned to face the orator. “And it’s _always_ those aristocratic types, the _‘I’ve sacrificed the fattest and finest lambs to his thunderous might and shouted my best praises out my balcony and I still have to be accounted for like everyone else in existence?’_ Always the same. Like, buddy, you’re holding up the line.

“Anyway, she pulls out her ultimatum, the _manager_ request. I have no idea why these shmucks think this is some sort of power move, as if they expect me to quiver in fear at these words. I have to see your Dad’s great, ominous face everyday and these ectoplasmic balloons act like if he so much as looked at me I would be instantly incinerated. Where do they get the idea your Dad would eradicate poor little me but not _them?_ I just make sure your death certificate is correct and sleep on the job!

“ _Anyway,_ and I say _‘Well you’re in luck! The Master of the House is always present for any customer complaints. He’s right there. The big, looming, perpetually sour faced Lord of the Underworld who hates being disturbed? He’s_ right _there. Can’t miss him!’_ It’s like that’s the first time they see him. As if he isn’t the literal centerpiece of the House when you arrive. She literally physically whittled when she saw him, and he didn’t give her a glare of death. He didn’t even look at her!”

The level of self righteousness some of these mortals possess could rival those of some _Gods._ And mortals can’t even transform into animals. They don’t even have immortality. Tsk tsk. 

Zagreus hums. “Always entertaining to see those entitled types become sufficiently cowed, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, which is exactly why everyone gives you an ovation when you come back every time you die.” Hypnos needles, pacing ceased to give Zagreus a tickled expression. Sometimes, Zagreus makes it too easy with how he just waltzes into these. 

“ _Someone_ has to bring merriment to the House.” Zagreus says as if that’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And to continue your little tally. How’s the score now?” 

Hypnos makes a noise, brings a hand to his chest in mock hurt as he walks to take his place by Zagreus’ side, sitting next to him at the cliff side. 

“I would never keep _score_ of your deaths, that implies there exists a betting pool of sorts and I would never bet against my dearest friend.” Hypnos, conferring with others about how the Prince could die _this_ round? He would _never._ “I keep _track,_ because that’s my _job._ ”

“Well, I hope I make your job just that more interesting, then.” Zagreus says in a way that he doesn’t completely believe Hypnos’ previous statement. How rude of him.

Zagreus turns to look out to the sprawling landscape before them, the continued architecture of the House emerging into an impossible size as it sprouts from the never-ending heights of the mountains. Emerald miasma permeates throughout, drenching the horizon in its hue as the procession of shades continue outwards, as twinkling lanterns in the distance but the scenery is wasted on Hypnos, as his sights are trained (from the corner of his eyes, of course) on his companion. Zagreus has a _really_ good profile. It’s especially present through the rim light from the illumination below. Does Zagreus have statues built in his likeness by the mortals? He should. He’d be an endless muse.

When Hypnos does steal a glance at the scenery he’s already seen enough that he could map everything without thinking about it, he sees the portrait of Master Hades’ face that sits above an entryway, the eyes of which glow menacingly to remind the shades the enter that, yup, they’re very much dead.

“You took out your Dad,” Hypnos says, softly. “You’re getting close, to the Surface.” Okay, that’s _too_ soft, back it up. “Well, I mean you _got_ there. Actually. Walked around with your Dad’s severed head, I’m sure, showing off. Hopefully next time you’ll watch your footing. If the mortals hear all they needed to do was to booby trap their realm to overtake the Gods, we’re _screwed._ ”

Zagreus lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re never letting that go, are you, mate. You will never let me rest from my failures.”

“Zagreus, you died because a garden rake hit you in the head hard enough to crack your thick skull.” Hypnos says, bluntly. “Tell me why I _wouldn’t_ remind you of such a spectacular blunder for the rest of your life? You’ll be up on Olympus drinking away your woes but I’ll know. I’ll _always_ know.” 

“You’re a nightmare.” Zagreus laments with a smile. He speaks next as if discussing a great conspiracy. “For that I’ll let the secret out: I’m not seeking the Surface for my Mother, I’m trying to escape _you._ ”

It’s a joke, it’s a jest, it’s just a silly, Zagreus’ tone is proof enough of that and yet, _yet._

“Come on. You can’t get enough of me. I’m irresistible. Someone needs to keep you humble.” 

Hypnos’ knows his words are only the truth, and so he accentuates it with a self-assured flip of the head, as if trying to expel hair from his face. He learned that one from Megaera.

Zagreus regards it with a quirked brow, unappreciative and lacking taste. “You are more humbling than any heavy hitting wretch, Hypnos, rest assured of that, mate. Nothing brings me to my senses better than when you say _‘thinking of dying? Just don’t!’_ ”

He’s got that smirk on. The one that Hypnos likes thinking about when he’s alone. 

“What are friends for, _mate._ ” Hypnos pops the final word out. Zagreus is looking at him. Hypnos is looking back. They’re sitting on a ledge that is precariously seated over an unhealthy height and Hypnos thinks, not for the first nor last time, why aren’t there railings on this thing. Zagreus’ face is outlined by a simmering green from the ambient lighting, those cheekbones are really good, those eyes are really good and those eyes just flicked downwards and did Zagreus just look at his lips yes _sir_ he did—

“Keeping track of your mate’s deaths and being comfortable to sleep on.” Zagreus says, leaning _back_ and _fuck the Fates fuck the Fates fuck the Fates._

Zagreus continues leaning back as he sits, presenting a familiar invitation to Hypnos. “Speaking of?” He asks with a tilt of the head.

Hypnos recognizes the proposition, one Zagreus has offered on many an occasion: he’s leaned back so that there is full access to his lap, a headrest Hypnos has used in the past to lay his weary head and sleep. Sometimes Zagreus offers his shoulder. Hypnos definitely prefers his lap and that’s totally not because his head is in proximity to a certain organ. His thighs are soft, alright.

Zagreus has a talent to discern when Hypnos will black out, a result of the fact that Hypnos can and will black out at any second and _will_ use any part of Zagreus as a pillow, so he’s learned to adapt. Hypnos doesn’t know if this can be called _conditioning,_ but he prefers the idea that Zagreus just likes him.

“You know me so well. Not many people know _sleeping_ is my favourite thing to do.” Hypnos drawls, accepting the offer as he de-summons his winged pauldrons so he may shift his cape more comfortably as he lays down. He slips his eye mask down as he settles, cheek mushed against Zagreus’ (sweet, sweet) thighs and is knocked out.

Or, well, he should have been. He usually does so when he uses Zagreus as an impromptu head rest. Turns out, this specific occasion, Zagreus’ hand caressing his shoulder is especially distracting, as is the thought of green and red eyes darting down to look at Hypnos’ lips. Zagreus’ lips, ripe for slipping his own tongue in between, to graze upon and suck, and there’s going to be mortals that suddenly develop insomnia now because he _can’t_ stop thinking. About the thighs he rests upon, about the man they are attached to, about how the Prince so easily allows Hypnos to rest on him without complaint.

He doesn’t want this to be ruined. Not _this._ Not by those hazardous butterflies that still continue in his stomach, intent on eating him from the inside out. He’s rested on Zagreus before. He has laid his head on the man’s lap before. He’s slept in the Prince’s _bed_ before, laying residence and effectively kicking Zagreus to lay on the couch because Zagreus is stupidly considerate. _Poseidon’s hairy ballsack,_ he’s seen Zagreus _naked_ before. On that occasion both had vacated their posts as mischievous mortal school boys, treading towards the nicer parts of Tartarus that possessed baths with the warm waters that are heated from the still deeper parts of hell and they had simply—sat and soaked, talked, as they talk on this balcony. This spot that Hypnos has since unconsciously deemed _theirs._

These were never sullied by a tightness in the chest. Never once had Hypnos been brought to such disturbance that he literally couldn’t sleep, and never by Zagreus himself. Even when they had been literally nude in each other’s presence and in the same body of water, he had never been brought to near complete shambles as the memory makes him _now._ Not even his memories are safe from these thoughts and feelings and carnivorous butterflies that continue still. 

This casual intimacy, this easy sense of comfort they both have with each other, and Hypnos is going to rightfully fuck it all up. He’s going to irreversibly disgrace this, this trust, because of _course_ it couldn’t have just been his dick attracted to the guy. 

Maybe it’s a good thing Zagreus is leaving. Maybe it’s a good thing Hypnos is finally getting hit over the head with that fact, that there may be a day(/night) that Zagreus will not come out of the Pool of Styx. Maybe _then_ he’ll finally get over himself.

Oh, great, his chest is constricting. He should force himself to sleep. But of course Zagreus can tell he’s taking longer to sleep than usual.

“You’re thinking too hard, mate.” Zagreus muses, painfully ironic. His thumb is circling over Hypnos’ shoulder as if he’s trying to get Hypnos to crack. “What’s on your mind?” 

Good enough exit as any. Hypnos stirs, lifting himself and retracting his eye mask, purposely looking anywhere else other than Zagreus and his confused expression. “You know, I just remembered how I forgot to add that _‘speak to your manager’_ woman’s cause of death to the ledger.”

Damn, that’s a shit excuse. Time to bounce. Hypnos gathers himself and promptly turns to leave, and _oh God oh Gods_ he can totally _feel_ how Zagreus’ eyes him in concern because he knows Hypnos is lying. 

“Do you need help _—_?” Zagreus begins to ask, before he is unceremoniously cut off. 

“Nope! You’ve got dying to do!” Hypnos says _—_ he doesn’t squeak this, he says this as a normal person, as he leaves like a normal person and does not speed walk.

Zagreus, thank every God to ever exist, doesn’t follow. Probably still too startled at Hypnos’ rash exit, and Hypnos intends to make the most of it. His corner of Erebus has never failed him, after all. 

It was almost funny, at first. Yeah, Zagreus looks good and is probably really, really good in bed, he doesn’t think he needs to argue such a thing. That’s just a conclusion anyone with any amount of sense could probably come to. And then he just _had_ to start thinking about how beautiful it would be to feel Zagreus’ arms around him with his lips against his own and eyes brimming with _lov_ _—_ (he’s not going to say it), so he just _had_ to awaken these _fucking feelings_ in him. No wonder mortals will literally kill each other over stuff like this, feeling like his heart is being crushed is _awful._ It would be far more desirable if it were literally being crushed, at this point. 

He’s laying on his bed, willing it to swallow him whole completely. Just go to sleep. There’s already enough mortals that are going to complain about their poor rest, it’s going to be an absolute slog to amend. Just _go_ to _sleep_. It shouldn’t be this difficult, he’s the literal incarnate of the thing and _yet_ , always an _and yet,_ he can’t even rest his head on Zagreus anymore. And there’s something so, so despicable and excruciating in that, like all of Hypnos’ bones are breaking simultaneously. He wants that relaxed affection back. He doesn’t want to be so weighted when he so much as _speaks_ with the guy. 

He’ll lose it either way. Either through his own blunders or by the fact Zagreus is literally leaving. He’s been getting far. He’s getting better at his runs. Even born in blood and darkness, Zagreus never was very particular about his birthplace. That much is obvious due to the fact he’s willing to die over and over to get out. And he does so so candidly, without so much as a thought because there truly must be nothing holding him back. There’s nothing in the Underworld that would keep him there. Not even Cerberus. Not even their cliffside chats. 

Gods, Zagreus told him one time about how Thanatos was pissy with him when his brother returned to the Underworld, upset that Zagreus didn’t say goodbye or whatever and Hypnos thought they both were being stupid. Thanatos, at being pissy, and Zagreus, being worried he marred his relationship with Thanatos. But. _Whew._ Hypnos gets it now. On both fronts. 

What will happen to Zagreus’ bedroom when he’s gone ahead, found his mother, and planted himself firmly into the Olympic pantheon? Would Master Hades have it demolished entirely? Not like Zagreus takes anything with him, not his lyre or any knick knack as if he isn’t attached to anything he owns. He’d have all he needs on the Surface and especially on Olympus. There’s nothing for him here, in the Underworld, he’s made that clear enough. 

Hypnos shouldn’t have left. Resting on Zagreus always brought with it the most peaceful sleeps. And here he is, staring at nothing, feeling as though he’s being strangled as his vision blurs around the corners, and he needs to blink rapidly as the shapes he sees begin to adopt a certain haze and _—_

Oh, he's crying. Like actually. His eyes are wet and he literally bursts a disbelieving laugh at the realization of it. 

What is _wrong_ with him, if he saw this happening in a mortal’s dream he would think it’s pathetic. Well, it _is_ pathetic, regardless. He is. Scratch that previous thought, he’s forever thankful he left because if _this_ had happened in front of Zagreus, he would have gladly jumped off that cliff. He rubs at his face, squeezing his eyes shut, not daring any tear to cascade down his cheek because this is already all too embarrassing. Through his stuttering gasps, do giggles sprout, and through the impalement of bitterness and grief does something hysterical make itself known.

Is this a coping mechanism? Some sort of survival instinct, to suddenly start laughing like a crazy person as he cries? This feels like such a _mortal_ thing to do. Listening to himself give off hiccups of laughter makes him feel even more neurotic. This is miserable. He pushes his palms against his eyes so hard it hurts, and continues still even as the dull ache turns into something sharper, releasing only on impulsive so he doesn’t smush his eyeballs. He sniffs, feeling his throat bob in a net of thorns and this is really, really stupid. Zagreus really is better off at the Surface.

He hates this, suddenly, this loathing a smothering thing. He hates his attraction to Zagrues. He hates his feelings for the Prince. He hates how he has entertained himself with fantasies and thoughts of the man, his scorn a boulder on his chest and his laughing turns into wheezing as he feels his chest cave inwards, ribs puncturing his lungs and heart. He can't even lay his head on Zagreus anymore, that simple, all encompassing action that he's taken for granted like an idiot. He can't have that warm security, Zagreus' shoulder, his lap, his side, his chest, his back, any part the Prince allows Hypnos to lean into when he randomly falls to slumber, staying where he is to allow Hypnos rest and he never had to do that. Zagreus was never obligated to literally have his time halted so abruptly when Hypnos just falls asleep and has his head list into Zagreus' body. He was never required to just stand or sit, waiting for Hypnos to rise again. But he did. He did so often, allowing Hypnos the luxury, that bliss Hypnos was always too stupid to fully appreciate. And he's ruined it, he's tarnished this wonderful thing they had, because these awful, abhorrent feelings of affection are a tainting thing. He can't rest on Zagreus without being burdened, and he's been a fool, a disgusting, repugnant cretin for taking himself in his hand with these fantasies. 

His laughing has whittled to rattled gasps, his chest convulsing as he stares wildly into nothing, hands gone upwards to grip at his hair with a punishing hold. He wants to rip it all out, he wants to tear the skin of his scalp, he wants to gorge his eyes with his fingers, he wants to mangle the flesh of his face into pieces. 

Yup, there’s a lot of mortals with insomnia suddenly.

  
  


* * *

“You’ve been crying.”

Thanatos’ voice coming from behind him nearly puts him into shock so badly, that Hypnos literally clutches at his chest expecting his heart to jump out of it. He turns on his heel, almost stumbling in the process, and, yup, there’s Thanatos. Standing in all his _Hypnos I am disappointed_ glory in this empty hallway.

Hypnos’ head rapidly cycles through _oh yay Thanatos!_ to _oh no Thanatos!_ when he comprehends what his brother said.

Hypnos winces. “Do I really look _that_ bad?” He summons a hand mirror from that invisible infinite inventory space and, are his eye bags heavier than usual? This is a new low, and Hypnos has been hitting those a lot of as late. “Sheesh, I _do_ look that bad.”

He de-summons the mirror as if it personally threatened his life, emitting a small _‘ugh,’_ as he does so. Thanatos makes no comment nor any twitch of the expression as he looks down on his smaller brother. 

“You’re upset, and I would like to know why.” He says, and this must be a world record.

“Wow.” Hypnos says, after a moment. “If I knew all I needed to do was shed some tears for you to speak more than a sentence with me, I would’ve done it long ago already!” 

He doesn’t know what the bigger oddity is, Thanatos speaking to him or Thanatos apparently caring that Hypnos has cried _or_ Thanatos actually knowing he’s cried at all. His life really _is_ some sort of a tragedy. 

“Hypnos.” Thanatos scowls. “Don’t be obtuse. You don’t need to waste both our time. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He should be touched by this, some distant part of him thinks. Thanatos actually showing some level of concern when he could be at his station, clearly having gone out his way to find his brother and speak with him, despite always being so firmly attached to his work. It _is_ touching, if Hypnos could ever confess the source of his misery.

Hypnos squints. “How did you even know? I didn’t know you had a _‘Hypnos is embarrassing himself’_ alarm.”

“Lucky guess. One can infer a lot by the perpetual dark cloud that hangs over your head.”

Thanatos says that line with such a lack of inflection and stony expression Hypnos actually looks up to see if someone put a curse on him. No dreary cloud of gloom greets him when he does so, and he actually scoffs at his brother in amazement. “Oh wow, that was a joke. You actually cracked a joke. I’m so proud.”

“ _Hypnos._ ”

Yup, yup, _there’s_ the Thanatos he knows! Annoyed! Awesome. Things are finally looking normal.

“Did Mom put you up to this?” Hypnos asks. “Didn’t you mention one time that every second, like two mortals die? You’re spending a lot of seconds with me here. Should I be honoured or worried?” 

“ _Nyx_ had no part in this, no. But if you would prefer for her to speak with you, continue being miserable and she will.” Thanatos folds his arms, the aura of exasperation further permeating. “Just answer me this, and I know this is a lot to ask, but try to respond without being cynical: is this a problem that can be solved with a well executed scythe swing?”

Hypnos blinks. Then he scoffs, again. Then he expects some persons hiding in the darkness to suddenly appear and go _‘congratulations, you’ve been tricked, you’ve been bamboozled, and your reaction shall be forever inscribed on the walls!’_ but no such reveal is given, obviously (/unfortunately?) and Hypnos is left with the startling realization that Thanatos is actually serious. Dead (hah) serious. 

What, does he think Hypnos is being _bullied_ by a nefarious gang of shades? He doesn’t know if he should be insulted by that. Or touched. Would Thanatos act on that scythe-swinging promise if Hypnos told him a half truth, that Zagreus’ departure has finally gotten to him? Hypnos can’t even do that. Thanatos and Zagreus are on good terms again after Thanatos having a resentful stint because of Zagreus’ decision to leave, he can’t reverse that progress just because he’s gotten a delayed reaction to this whole situation. There isn’t anything to be gained from this, even if Hypnos omitted certain truths.

Hypnos shrugs, and speaks with a coy voice. “So violent. I didn’t know you could reap the souls of furniture. I’m not sure stubbing my toe really makes it deserving to incur your wrath.”

The reaction is immediate. Thanatos’ expression hardens, reaching his limit of tolerance. “Fine. Be difficult.”

And _poof!_ he’s gone, and Hypnos is left staring at where he stood. Great talk!

* * *

Thanatos has always scoffed at Hypnos' continued practice of referring Nyx as simply ‘Mom’ instead of her name, he having called her either ‘Mother Nyx’ or simply ‘Nyx’ since his conception. Apparently, according to him, there’s something ‘juvenile’ in simply referring to the Night as ‘Mom’ as if he doesn’t call her ‘Mother’ too but that must be the _formal_ title so it’s _proper_ but hey Thanatos how about you stay for a while and do the _proper_ brotherly thing instead disappearing after any attempt of bonding you absolute _twat_ _—_

Ahem.

Hypnos is, what one might colloquially call, a _‘mama's boy.’_ And, true to Thanatos’ words, it’s her turn to make an appearance. She comes to him when in Erebus, during that valley of transition, and she materializes from the ceaseless darkness as an infinite presence that curls around him with a comforting embrace. She arrives in her incorporeal state, the Night overshadowing him completely as he allows himself to be engulfed by her want to console. 

Her embrace is greater than his own cape. He sighs as he is cradled by her. 

She speaks, her voice reverberating through the void. “I feel from you an intense despair, my child. It pains me to see you thusly, you are rarely, if ever, so hopeless. It worries me.” 

_Hopeless,_ that’s such a strong word. “It’s stupid.” He mumbles. “Mindnumbingly stupid.” 

“And I am hear to listen, if you so need it.” 

And it is within her tranquilizing clutch that Hypnos allows himself that weakness. In the Night, he is infinitely safe.

He wrinkles his nose. “I _cried,_ recently. Like actually teared up. Did Thanatos tell you that?”

“Your brother has not, no, but I know he is as just as troubled as I am from your sudden melancholy. It is a great contrast from your usual self.”

“Is it that obvious…” Safety or not, her hold does not save him from the embarrassment. 

There’s humour, almost, in her first set of words, before it morphs back to its usual self. “As family we are connected, dear child, and it is from that connection your brother and I were able to discern such a worrying shift from you. You have not spilled tears since Zeus sought to destroy you. To know you have done so again brings me concern.”

He _had_ cried then, hadn’t he. Well, difficult not to when it’s literally Zeus tearing apart mountains while making very, very creative threats. In Hypnos’ defense, Hera’s tantalizing premise that putting Zeus to sleep would be mad funny was reasonable. In Hypnos’ further defense, Hera’s unhelpful _T’was just a prank, Husband_ when said husband was literally out to murder him, did not quell his fear that he may not be immortal for every long.

“ _That_ long ago, huh.” Hypnos sighs. “Well, at least then there was legitimate cause for being a baby.” 

Bless _Mom._ Keeping with his antics and his mopiness and protecting him from the wrath of the King of Gods. He should really get her a gift. 

“You need not only to feel fear to weep. Something troubles you. Something makes you feel empty. I ask that you tell me, please.” She asks, her hug around him tightening.

As she had shielded him from Zeus, so too is this moment an asylum. 

He picks at his nails, suddenly very interested with fiddling with his fingers. “It’s Zagreus.” He confesses, as a murderer would to their crime.

“Is this an ache of the heart?” Mom asks, her breath upon the crown of his head as she lowers herself to plant her lips on his forehead.

“Yeah. Yup. Sure is.” Hypnos laments, because of course Mom would be able to pick this up. Woe is he. 

“The Prince has always been close to you, and you the Prince. Your feelings for him come as no surprise to me, but it fills me with joy nonetheless. But I do not yet understand how this could make you weep. Will you explain?” 

He feels her thumb circle on his temple as he continues to lean into her chest.

“He’s leaving, Mom.” His voice is whittled, and with anyone else, he’d force himself to change his tone for proprietary. “He’ll get out of here, _eventually._ Prance around on the Surface, find his Mom, meet the mortals, meet the _Olympians,_ what reason would he have to come back? He’s never liked it here.”

Mom hums. “It is true he holds no fondness for Hades. But that does not mean he does not hold fondness for the denizens who reside within it. He cares intensely, almost to a fault, to those he considers his friends and family, my child. And he cares for _you,_ I know this to be true. He would not forget those he loves, even if in the halls of Olympus.” 

_Loves,_ oh, whew. He feels undeserving of such a thing, even if it is a different love than his own. What a heavy, burdensome word.

He’s quiet, a lump in his throat seeking to choke him, before he’s able to get it out. 

“I love him.” Hypnos breathes, after an effort. And then, mortification at the verbal admission. “But, uh, don’t tell him that.”

And there, it's out, it’s said, it has power and Hypnos can’t take it back, now. He couldn’t run away from it regardless, but admitting out loud feels like admitting defeat. Like admitting some horrible thing, and he can't even tell Mom of the grievances that continue still, of that black despair that persists because of what he has lost with Zagreus. 

Mom’s words never stray from their gentle touch. “He will not hear a confession from me, my child. That is for you to reveal if you so choose to. Know that cares for you, deeply, and regardless of whether these emotions are reciprocated or not, he would never cull ties with you.”  
  
Comforting, if at all true. He can’t bring himself to become self-deprecating while in Mom’s embrace, as if a taboo, her tender touch one that lulls him from such. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, instead.  
  
“I am certain as I am the Night.” 

She says so with confidence, almost to the point he could believe it.

* * *

He’s brought out of slumber from a shaking of his shoulder, a gentle touch that serves to bring him into groggy awareness as he bleats a blarily _‘huh?’_ at whoever is jostling him in his bed. He slips his eye mask off with uncoordinated movements as he squints at whoever it is, his vision still blurred from his awakening. 

Mismatched eyes, green and red, is the first thing he’s able to discern, and Hypnos instantly breaks to a grin.

“Zagreus,” Hypnos murmurs, still in a dream-like state. Before he focuses: Zagreus, waking him while in Erebus. This is Hypnos’ day off, one he intends to make the most of with a snooze-fest, and he’s been interrupted. _“Zagreus?”_ he says again, able to collect his thoughts properly as he lifts himself on his bed, speaking with a noticeably more perplexed voice.

Zagreus, at the very least, has the sense to look apologetic. In fact, he appears downright _guilty_ , which is _totally_ not concerning.

"Hypnos," he starts. "I—wasn't aware your bedchambers could count as a challenge area."

His remorse is clear in his voice, sincere in this apology and Hypnos can only stare as the cogs in his head begin to operate in understanding. 

"Challenge." Hypnos enunciates slowly, before rapid comprehension enters him as he scrambles on his bed. "Zagreus, you're bringing wretches into my _room?!_ "

He winces at his own voice, shrill in tone, and Zagreus does the same. On his _day off,_ too, what misery. Master Hades truly is a cruel one, allowing his most humble and diligent servant’s own bedchambers to become an impromptu stadium of thrashing and slaughter. 

"I hadn't even realized you were _here_ , honestly." Zagreus attempts, and Hypnos makes a noise. "If I noticed I wouldn't have … accepted… it."

And he really does seem sincere, in his voice and expression. 

"You're _really_ bringing wretches into my _room?"_ Hypnos states again, whining, the ludicrousy mounting, the reality of the situation weighing in. His bedroom really is going to become a damned arena, huh. "What is wrong with you—"

And, it happens. Hypnos' voice whittles into a defeated groan as it does, as the air becomes sharper until it crackles with intensity as the smell of sulphur permeates as a heavy smog. From the blessed shadows of Erebus do wretches spawn from their doorways of noxious smog, snarling in challenge and hunger as they grow numerous. Wretches. In his _room._ His private sanctuary that he should be able to sleep peacefully without disturbance and there’s Godsdamned _wretches_ in his _room_. And of those small explode-y types too, the miniature chariots, and he buries his face in his hands. The _best_ result from this is still a room covered in soot and grime, wrecked and ravaged because blighted wretches have no manners, _especially_ the little explode-y ones. 

He scrambles to a standing position, desperately re-organizing his mind to think of a basic combat/defensive stance, as Zagreus reaches his full height and merely rolls his shoulders as he prepares. Varatha makes an appearance, Zagreus summoning the weapon in his hands with a twirl that seemed very unnecessary, but was, well, aesthetically pleasing at least. His back is facing Hypnos, now, as he faces his aggressors and Hypnos attempts to merge with the wall. 

"Just—stay behind me, they'll most likely focus on me," Zagreus says, bending his knees in his stance. "Hopefully." He tacks on as an afterthought.

Hypnos wrinkles his nose at his back. "Forgive me if I’m not instilled with the greatest confidence."

"I'll handle it, mate." Zagreus says, looking over his shoulder as if there isn’t a horde in front of him who are all content in ripping him _(and Hypnos!)_ apart. "You can watch."

He turns back to give his adversaries his full attention but not before—

Did he just wink?

Un- _be_ -lievable. The audacity of this man.

Hypnos gets his casts ready at the fingertips, spells of slumber and comatose, but do suicidal exploding miniature chariots that inexplicably go _‘meow’_ even sleep in the first place? Well. One way to find out. Hypnos stays in his designated spot of _‘if I don’t move then maybe I won’t be a target,’_ and Zagreus —Well, Zagreus seemingly decides to follow the mantra of _‘just go fucking crazy’_ as he dashes, charges, twirls and jumps like an overly enthusiastic Slam-Dancer that has drunk one too many tankards of suspicious liquid. Before Hypnos can rightly make sense of anything in front of him, Zagreus is at the other side of the room, and then he’s in the air, then he’s seemingly disappeared only to appear with a sharp _fwip_ and a spear-blade making short work of a wretch who seems just as lost as Hypnos is.

Hypnos’ spells still radiate off his fingertips with a buzz that is itching to be used, but as moments pass, as Zagreus continues his show of a wallop tango, Hypnos’ original burst of panicked adrenalin ebb itself away. His cast mellow away from his still ready poised hands, the radiate energy from them seeping back into dormancy as he attempts to track Zagreus’ movements.

He’s a slippery cunt, quick enough his feet may as well not be touching the ground. A flashy hoofer to the point that, yeah, the wretches apparently do not know of Hypnos’ existence. No mini chariot careens its way towards him, no fire-ball seeks to give him a new haircut, and these lowlife dwellers of hell are definitely just as blind as Zagreus to not target him as they do the Prince. Varatha is practically glowing in his grip, ever content with the feast, Zagreus infinitely comfortable in his posture and movement, just second nature, punting vile fiends into oblivion. 

Hypnos has seen Zagreus spar before. With that skeletal training dummy, Skelly. Zagreus’ whack-a-thon then was entertaining, enthralling to watch how the Prince brawls as elegantly just as the finest dancers. Watching him now, with the adage of opponents who would not only fight back, but be glad to kill him, is an event that is tenfold the spectacular feature. And tenfold the arousing one. 

Hypnos’ body sags from the release of his previous frenzied-stricken state, slumping into a dazed sitting position on his bed as he continues to watch the scene in front of him. Zagreus’ form is impeccable, he clears foe after foe in an immaculate display of ‘ _This is too easy.’_ Achilles really is a good teacher. 

As Zagreus does his dance, Hypnos tracks the intense focus the Prince wears on his face, eyes glimmering with tenacity so brightly it immediately spikes something in Hypnos. Zagreus’ moves with such confidence, each step a calculated move, each swing hitting its target, and Hypnos’ mouth is suddenly dry at how the man’s musculature is accentuated with how it contracts and contorts underneath his skin with each movement. His tits are bouncing. Whew. Alright. 

Maybe having wretches in his room isn’t so bad. If his vision suddenly adopting a rose-tint haze wasn’t indicative of that, then his hand absentmindedly slipping down his body is. It trails downwards, and the blatant display of strength that is being put on show is probably the best trance-inducing thing Hypnos has ever experienced. He lets out a small, needy gasp when his hand completes its journey, legs spreading themselves apart subconsciously. 

Something swells in Hypnos’ chest, perhaps a feeling of pride, when he realizes Zagreus has really taken his wisdom to heart. _Just don’t get hit and you won’t get hurt,_ and the fucker _doesn’t get hit._ Not once. Not even a swipe. He barely breaks a sweat, and it’s a wonder how he’s still in the Underworld if he’s able to clear a room with such apparent ease. When the room is freed in its entirety, with only a wisp of sulphur to indicate there was a horde just moments prior, Zagreus adopts a slack pose. His back is still facing Hypnos, but he turns at a casual pace as Varatha is placed to lean on his shoulder, expression undeniably pompous and he’s _posing,_ the terribly handsome prick.

Heat spikes in his gut as their eyes meet, Hypnos feeling his smile break out and—then Zagreus’ eyes dart downwards, and his expression rapidly changes to one of naked shock. Hypnos follows his gaze and—

 _Blood and_ fucking _darkness,_ Hypnos has his hand on his cock, pawing himself through his tunic. In front of Zagreus. _To_ Zagreus. 

Blood escapes him in an instant, mortification imprisons him in an icy grip, and Hypnos scurries in a haphazard flurry to attempt to rectify himself. He removes the offending hand with such a force he literally bangs it against the wall behind him, he closes his legs and attempts to conceal his lower body with his cape as a desperate shield.

Zagreus is staring at him. He blinks, rapidly, as if trying to manually dispel his bewilderment and Hypnos’ life is really, really over, now. If only those exploding chariots actually exploded in his face, then he wouldn’t have to deal with how ice courses through his entire being. 

Zagreus is still looking at him. Hypnos should really say something.

“Uhm,” He starts, and he should really just invest into banging his head against the wall. “Looking good!” He is able to squeak weakly, accompanied with a feeble thumbs up. Banging his head against the wall is still a _great_ option. 

He should make himself scarce. He should flee. He should run and never return and become a folktale for the mortals. But the only movement he is blessed with is his face twitching with how this unhelpful smile is stuck on his face. 

Zagreus opens his face, before closing it. He opens it again, with words at the ready.

“... You’re too kind, mate.” He says, terribly inelegant. He clears his throat, nods in Hypnos’ direction, and moves to leave. “Cheers.” 

Hypnos would say something back if his tongue wasn’t dislodged down his throat. Instead he nods as if willing to have his head pop off his shoulders, and Zagreus turns on his heel and makes his exit.

With Zagreus gone, Hypnos is still stuck as a statue where he sits. His brain produces nothing but an erroneous static, and he sits there for a long, long moment, to the point dust may accumulate on his shoulders.

* * *

Well, there truly is no way of escaping this. He’s fucked up. There’s no hooty-tooty way of explaining this one. Time to come clean, and all that, no matter how much adopting an entirely new identity and pretending to live life as a mortal may be. 

Zagreus’ room feels as though it’s a forbidden space. Which is ridiculous, considering he’s been in it numerous times before already. But it feels—besmirched, now, his connection to the room and how he and Zagreus would be reduced to giggling idiots from a particularly hefty concoction of herbs and seeds that Hypnos makes for them to smoke. Smeared because of his lapse in rational and critical thinking and he just _had_ to go and think with his dick. He thinks on how the both of them would indulge in reading a text picked at random and use voices that would become increasingly inane and dramatic, acting out scenes as a terrible theatre play, or how they’ve tried to set games of petteia which would de-evolve into the two of them adopting characters for their board pieces or Hypnos falling asleep during.

He thinks of how Zagreus would literally allow Hypnos to sleep in his bed, Hypnos having suspiciously found his way onto the cushions despite having fallen asleep on the floor. He’ll miss this.

It’s all _ruined._ Even if the best case scenario comes to past, of Zagreus assuming Hypnos’ salacious slip-up was a proposition for a one night (day?) stand, it still does not quell the fact that Hypnos _l… o… v … e_ —

He hates thinking, he’s decided. He also hates waiting for Zagreus while lingering in his room. The stress of idling will be his cause of death, at this point, and his thoughts are not proving to be an adequate distraction.

Zagreus has a lyre in his room. Kept as shiny as ever, and completely wasted on the two of them as neither of them are musically inclined at any level. He reaches out and plucks at one of its strings, eliciting a flat tone. He does so again, with similar results, sliding fingers across the lines of glimmering string, allowing for a peak performance of someone not knowing how to properly play a lyre. 

“You know you need to tune the strings first, mate.” 

The sound Hypnos makes isn’t proud, nor is he proud of the fact he twirls around with the instinctive act of trying to assume a defensive position. He really needs to work on his spatial awareness.

Zagreus regards him with a blighted smirk. Hypnos squints back up at him with friendly scorn, momentarily forgetting why he’s here in the first place. When rapid memories of Zagreus’ display of fortitude and vigor assault him as if trying, very, very hard to have him touch himself in front of the man again, Hypnos shifts on his feet.

“Back so soon?” Hypnos asks, his voice sounding far more casual than he feels. “What was it this time, a shovel?” 

“Keep speaking like that, mate, and I’ll use that shovel to dig your grave.” 

Zagreus’ voice is as it usually is: that familiar companionable tone and Hypnos could almost think Zagreus has hit his head hard enough to forget Hypnos’ indiscretion. That, or he’s entertaining Hypnos’ words to clear the air so it may at least be somewhat cordial between them both before he tells Hypnos to fuck off.

Digging his own grave seems like a most excellent idea, currently. “I’m sure there’s better uses for such a noble digging tool. Ever consider mining your way out?” Hypnos says.  
  
“Duly noted.” Zagreus nods with a tilt of the head. “Can’t wait to excavate a tunnel and then suddenly I’m burning because I’ve gone ahead and dug under a river of lava.” 

“Don’t knock ‘till you try it, matey.” 

Is he allowed to do that, still? The whole _mate_ business. Zagreus still looks suspiciously without any sort of disdain, and he has clearly learned remarkably well to hide any tells that could divulge any hint that he thinks Hypnos is suddenly an uncomfortable presence. Zagreus shifts, stepping forwards as he places his hands on his hips.

“So,” Zagreus starts, and _here goes._ “Something on your mind, then?”  
  
How cruel, pussyfooting around the subject. Zagreus asks with a tone that is obvious he expects a certain response from Hypnos, as if he couldn’t just blatantly ask and then kick Hypnos to the curb. 

Hypnos sighs and slumps his shoulders. “You know, Zagreus, you’d get better results if you tried to ask direct questions. Like, _‘Gee, Hypnos, why were you touching yourself as a nymphomaniac while watching me?’_ Wouldn’t you agree that would speed things up a little?” 

Zagreus quirks a brow. And then: “Gee, Hypnos, why were you touching yourself as a nymphomaniac while watching me?”

Zagreus parrots him with a flat tone that still manages to convey _amusement,_ the sadist.

Hypnos folds in arm in some sort of vain attempt of self-respect, and then, because he is a man of eloquence, he says: “Because you make a specific part of me harden.” 

Even though Zagreus obviously knows that, considering he’s seen Hypnos fondling himself in Erebus, the spoken admission still acts as a stiff (tee hee) reminder and confession. Zagreus clearly finds this whole thing awfully entertaining, as he breaks out a small snort of amusement, and, geez, having his feelings be the point of ridicule makes Hypnos’ heart feel like its shriveling up. This is definitely not the enjoyable kind of sadism.

Zagreus should definitely just tell him to go get eaten by some unfathomable horror. Or, better yet, act as if nothing had happened and then Hypnos could stomp on those butterflies still present in his stomach in private like a reasonable God. 

Zagreus hums, his words mellow. “I had an idea you were attracted to me. From the times you stared at my ass.”

Hypnos’ eye just twitched. Air might as well have been taken directly out of him with how he stills. Is it better, or worse, that Zagreus evidently knew at some level his attractions even before Hypnos’ little incident? He can’t think. Heat is quickly coalescing on his face.

His voice, because Hypnos still retains refinement, is nonchalant. “I didn’t know you had eyes on the back of your head. I was being subtle.”

“You’ll find I’m very intuitive.” Zagreus says, stepping forward, and Hypnos is suddenly reminded of a cat capering with a mouse. “And then I _knew_ you were attracted to me when you reacted the way you did when I did things like _this._ ”

Zagreus raises a hand and lays it upon Hypnos’ shoulder, just beneath his pauldrons and above his cape. Despite his quilted mantle being one that is delightfully full, he can feel Zagreus’ squeeze through it, his fingertips dig into his skin to the point Hypnos automatically gives in a sharp inhale. 

Through the sudden haze, Hypnos is able to speak. He looks at Zagreus, incredulous. “You were _teasing_ me.” He says. Incredulously.

The sudden realization is like a right punch into the face, the mere thought of Zagreus indulging himself in such a way is one that is dreadfully enticing, as Hypnos feels his skin prickle. Zagreus’ grip loosens as he rubs languidly up and down Hypnos’ arm.

Nevermind, this _is_ the enjoyable kind of sadism.

“Forgive me, it was for research. I wanted to make certain.” Zagreus says, fucking _cheeky._ He knows exactly the kind of effect he has on Hypnos.

A literal, all-powerful talent that Zagreus has mastered, being so easily able to extinguish any anxieties Hypnos had prior. What a man. What a hunk. Zagreus’ smile is captivating as it is indulgent, his eyes dancing with that relaxed amusement and Hypnos doesn’t know how past him could ever have a worry that _Zagreus,_ of all people, _Zagreus,_ who would readily risk himself for literally anyone, would react so adversely to the point their relationship could be truly tarnished. 

Hypnos smiles, licking his lips. Yup, yup, Zagreus’ eyes flicked to his tongue moistening his lips. “Well, I hope my impetuous act of nearly masturbating in front of you left you with no uncertainties.”

Zagreus _giggles,_ one Hypnos has heard numerous times but somehow is still _cuter._ “I’ll admit, you caught me off guard. I knew I was giving you a good show, but I didn’t know it was _that_ good. It was a high compliment.” 

Zagreus looks down at him with a considering expression. His hand is still tracing up and down Hypnos’ arm, and he mirrors it with the other as he places his free hand to Hypnos’ vacant shoulder, and Hypnos rapidly thinks _oh wow oh wow he could so easily pick me up right now._

Hypnos’ excitement must be emanating off of him waves. He can certainly feel it, and Zagreus must too, as Hypnos tentatively reaches with his hands to settle upon Zagreus’ hips. That slim waist. He’s got hands on Zagreus’ hips and all he needs to do is lean forward to grope the Prince’s noble rear. 

Zagreus leans forward slightly, and Hypnos has never been so acutely away of their size difference. Blood is traversing downwards just at the mere sight of it. “Tell me what you want, Hypnos.” Zagreus murmurs as if he’s really, really intent on turning Hypnos into goo.

It’s really hot in this room. “I think you already know what I want.” Hypnos says.

“I want to hear it from you.” 

And—there it is. Those damned butterflies. Festering and feasting and willing to devour him from the inside out, his gut churning and Zagreus’ focused eyes and low voice isn’t helping things. Zagreus may not react as what Hypnos’ overreacting mind envisions, as he would never be scornful of Hypnos, but as if these feelings were some unforgivable crime, Hypnos hesitates. The, _realistic,_ (key word being realistic) worst outcome from Hypnos confessing his true feelings would be for Zagreus to give an awkward, but gentle _‘No,’_ retract from this friends with benefits venture he’s giving, and they could both carry on as friends with the adage of Hypnos suddenly suffering from crippling heartache. 

Any practical, mature God, would be frank with their feelings. Confess, take the rejection with stride, start on the journey of getting over himself, and later down the line they can both make merry with Zagreus going _‘hey, remember when you had a crush on me?’_ Story done, that embarrassing arc of his life complete and he need never think about how he literally cried over this. Zagreus will never know that.

(But when have any Greek God ever been practical and mature?)

Zagreus is obviously willing to lay with him. He’s been _teasing_ him, afterall, and now is looking down at the smaller God with expectant, bedroom-y eyes and Hypnos expects that the Prince needs some way to blow off steam from continually dying. His bed is a very heavy presence in the corner of Hypnos’ vision. It will most likely make those feelings worse, bedding the man, more intense and more blinding but he is also on the precipice of literally having sex with Zagreus and that on its own is a very, very impossible thing to ignore.

He wonders if Zagreus has thought, as Hypnos did, about how they could fuck. And it’s with that thought, of Zagreus touching himself to the thought of Hypnos, that Hypnos decides he would be the perfect source of stress-relief for the Prince. Loyalty to the House, and all that.

“You could do anything to me.” Hypnos says in a whisper, licking his lips, smile becoming toothy. “And I would be completely helpless.” 

And—A pause, then. No sudden change of direction from Zagreus hastily throwing him onto the bed as he had imagined he would. Instead, Zagreus replies with blinking, attempting to gather himself and maybe, perhaps, Hypnos should have phrased that better.

“...Perhaps.” Zagreus says, slowly, and Hypnos is struck suddenly on how it is possible that Zagreus just doesn’t have the same tastes as him. Whoopsies. “You’ve clearly been thinking about this for a long time, which is flattering. But that wasn’t what I was asking for.”

Fuck. Hypnos really does have that _‘open mouth, insert foot’_ quirk, doesn’t he. He thinks he understands, truly, why Master Hades actually keeps him around.

“Oh.” Hypnos taps his fingers where they are still placed on Zagreus’ hips, and wonders suddenly if he’s still now allowed to place them there. “Would you prefer it if I said it as _‘I want you to ravish me until I was incoherent’_?”

Sleep incarnate? _No,_ embarrassment incarnate. Court jester incarnate. He should invest in a cap with bells and name himself Hypnos the Fool.

“Tempting.” Zagreus says, oh thank the Gods, he’s smiling, small but there nonetheless. Disaster averted. But then Zagreus retracts, removing his hands from Hypnos’ shoulders and Hypnos automatically lets his own arms lay limply at his side, and disaster looms once more. 

Zagreus straightens, voice clear-cut. “But allow me to express it differently. It is important for me to know, Hypnos, before we go forward, so allow me that luxury.” 

Hypnos waits, before realizing Zagreus is waiting for him to answer.

“Well, you have my undivided attention.” Hypnos says, spreading his arms as he does so.

“How far are you willing to take this, Hypnos?” Zagreus asks, seriously. “Do you want us to be only bed partners?” And then, a glint his eyes, something changes. “Or do you want this to be something more?” 

Talk about an unexpected turn of events. A blindside, and Hypnos is kept staring, his head feeling as though it’s spinning off his neck. Is that, _dare he say,_ hope ebbing from Zagreus’ voice? There’s hope, a savage and wild thing, in his own chest, willing to burst itself free. Such an impossibility, it was, mere moments ago of this very thing, of Zagreus looking at him with desperate optimism as he asks if he wants _more._ And suddenly, Hypnos is very confident in his understanding of Zagreus and Megaera’s past relationship. _More, he wants more._

Existence is a fickle thing as in that moment as it all falls away, and it's just this room, and it's just them. The prior assumption is flipped on its head, and now Hypnos is certain, with relative confidence, that Zagreus would in fact decline a mere one off tussle under the sheets. This whole exchange makes Hypnos feel as though he’s felt literally every emotion that there is to exist. There’s fucking _longing_ on Zagreus’ face, good Gods.

There’s _no_ way. And yet.

“I want you,” Hypnos breathes, caring not for how his voice comes out raw. “I want everything about you. Your mismatched eyes, your smile, your frustrating kindness, your great, juicy tits ”

Said tits move as Zagreus bursts out in a laugh, relief pouring out of him as a palpable thing and, wow, they’re both so incredibly stupid. A court of fools, the two of them, and this is happening, really _really_ happening. Zagreus’ laugh is pleased and wonderful and positively dazzling and he’s been given clear solace at Hypnos’ romantic admission, as if truly thinking there a risk Hypnos wouldn’t. _They’re both so stupid!_

The look on Zagreus’ face is clear adoration and that wild, terrible thing is released from Hypnos, glowing in its freedom and he’s _not_ going to cry, _nope._

“I can give you that.” Zagreus says, and he moves forward.

And then his lips are on Hypnos’ before the smaller can even make sense of his movements. Zagreus has his hands bracing on the sides of Hypnos’ face, bent forwards as to claim the smaller’s mouth, and Hypnos breathes in as Zagreus quickly becomes his only lifeblood. Hypnos is helpless as the warmth that surges through him leaves him weak, welcoming fully Zagreus’ insistent lips as they both merge as one, moving in tandem as Zagreus seeks to devour him. The Prince’s hands move in a desperate, wanting motion as one find itself on Hypnos’ waist, the other curling around his back, supporting the smaller as Hypnos drowns in the growing intensity of this dizzying world, Zagreus his anchor as his own hands grasp onto whatever part of the Prince allows him purchase. Hypnos is pressed up against the soothing and ever reassuring body of Zagreus, but he craves for more all the same as tongue meets tongue and he quickly becomes feverish. A hand grips onto Zagreus’ sturdy bicep, the other, gropes at where the Prince’s chest is bared. 

They break after what may as well have been an eternity, Hypnos’ heart a thundering thing that matches Zagreus’ own. He had to urge himself on the tips of his toes to get further into Zagreus’ mouth. He grins at that, and grins further still at how Zagreus’ great, juicy tit feels in his hand.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Hypnos breathes, squeezing at Zagreus' pectoral, just as malleable as Hypnos imagined, and Zagreus’ own smile broadens. “It is a merciless thing, to allow these puppies loose but not allowing me to touch them. Really affected my work ethic.”  
  
“Well, they’re free for your taking,” Zagreus says, equally astounded with how his soul had been nourished through their mouth-to-mouth battle. “And you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do _this._ ” 

Hands settle around Hypnos’ waist, unyielding and firm and before Hypnos can think how snug it is, he’s floating. He’s in the air and Zagreus is to blame, lifting Hypnos upwards in one smooth motion and Hypnos lets out just an _inspired_ gasp at it. His hands scrambling onto Zagreus’ shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist, and it’s almost weird being more at eye-level with the guy.

“I’m very appreciative of the fact you’re fun-sized, Hypnos.” Zagreus says, and oh yes, he’s cooing.

“I prefer the term party-sized.” Hypnos replies, his mind still a cloudy mirth, Zagreus’ lips and tongue a most captivating ghost. 

“Of course, my mistake.” One of Zagreus’ hands rub leisurely upon Hypnos’ back, the other arm the seat Hypnos rests on and he really only needs one arm to support Hypnos’ weight. _Nice._

“Just, hold on, I need to make sure of something.” Hypnos quickly lifts a hand up towards his neck, before finding a small section of skin to pinch with his fingers. With the small, sharp prick, the image of Zagreus does not disperse. “Okay. Not dreaming! Cool.”

Zagreus smiles at him, and it is Hypnos’ turn to take Zagreus’ face in his hands and lean forward. He claims the Prince’s lips once more, just as hungry, pushing his tongue inwards, and Zagreus welcomes him, ever eager. Just as intoxicating as the first, and Hypnos never wants to indulge in anything else but the sensation of Zagreus’ mouth moving against his. Something blossoms inside him, planted since Zagreus reciporaction, warm and bright in his chest and just as splendid as all the constellations of twinkling stars he sees in mortal dreams. It’s meant to be there, as his soul in his body, thrumming as a drum, natural and innate and he loves this man, he loves this man, he loves this man.

“ _I love you,_ ” Hypnos exhales for the moment as they separate before resuming in a desperate brush. _“I love you,”_ He murmurs again, a spell of pure undiluted devotion and Hypnos wants nothing more than for Zagreus to keep him close.

“And I am yours,” Zagreus manages, hoarse with yearning and Hypnos might actually go crazy.

And he feels like he truly does, for a moment, mind so overcome with a nebulous cloud of dizzying need. So much so, any eloquence is suddenly lost to him, tongue paralyzed from such a wrestle with Zagreus’ own, and all Hypnos can do is stare in wonderment at Zagreus’ wonderful, wonderful mismatched eyes looking at him in reverence.

“Sex?” Hypnos blurts out. 

Zagreus bursts into a wide grin. _“Absolutely.”_

And then they’re changing direction, and then Hypnos suddenly lands on a familiar cushyness and he’s been dumped on Zagreus’ bed, and Zagreus is quickly crawling above him and engulfing him so easily, and—Hypnos has never been more excited for anything in his entire life, not even the times he’s eagerly awaited the continuation of a particularly engaging drama in some mortal’s dreams. 

He de-summons his cape, pauldrons and gold plating with a haste, nearly doing the same with his tunic with a snap of his fingers, but Zagrues quells any movement Hypnos thinks of having by placing a hand upon the smaller's chest. He pushes downwards, and Hypnos allows himself to be rendered limp with such a shove, the weight of it eliciting a particularly eager gasp.

He spreads his legs instantly to accommodate Zagreus’ form descending upon him. He wraps his arms around the Prince’s neck as their lips meet one another again, still as lively as the first time, and brightening still as Zagreus moves his ministrations to include Hypnos’ neck. He groans and leans his head backwards to allow Zagreus to mouth at his neck, the Prince’s hands lining across Hypnos’ abdomen. Zagreus’ hands are eager as they are ravenous, sinking into every hill and valley of Hypnos’ body through his tunic, and _damn_ is clothing suddenly such an annoyance.

As if sensing his thoughts, Zagreus speaks up from his insistent suckling on Hypnos’ neck and underside of his jaw. “How much do you care about this tunic, Hypnos?” He says, voice a whisper near Hypnos’ ear as he palms said tunic, hands still stroking and seizing the smaller body, sending shockwaves throughout. 

“Huh?” Hypnos manages, blinking up at Zagreus and his sharp gaze, red and green, and those are definitely Hypnos’ favourite colours. “I have like, a thousand exact copies—” He starts, before he is cut off by a distinct sound.

Zagreus’ fondling through Hypnos’ clothing is brought to a close, as the Prince instead then takes in both hands Hypnos’ shirt and _pulls._ Hypnos lets out a squawk at the sudden ripping of fabric, the sound bringing all awareness back into him as he looks down to how his chest is now bared to the air of the room. Heat kindles within him, goose-pimples sprout upon his skin and thrill courses through him as a rapid cascade, enticing a certain part of him to rise.

Zagreus eases his hands inwards, fondling in delight as skin meets skin as he caresses at Hypnos’ breast. His movements send electricity and flame in its wake, and when Zagreus squeezes at one of Hypnos’ nipples, Hypnos knows the Prince grows especially smug at how Hypnos reacts with a pant.

This tunic is unwearable but Hypnos _may_ keep it as a trophy nonetheless. “ _Zagreus!_ ” He exclaims, voice worked to be annoyed and Zagreus ceases immediately. “That was made of the finest silk this side of the planet!”

Zagreus looks at him as Cerberus does when he’s caught chewing on something he shouldn’t. He looks down at the torn fabric, at the sudden boob-window he’s given Hypnos, before looking up at Hypnos with something apologetic.

Hypnos cuts him off before Zagreus can stutter out some offering of regret, Hypnos’ expression returning to his smile. 

“That was a joke.” He says, before giddiness takes hold of him again. “ _Do it again._ ” 

“Imp.” Zagreus replies, his smirk restored, and then sufficiently bringing Hypnos to that cloudy haze when he dips himself lower to mouth around one of Hypnos’ nipples, with the other grasped once more between his fingers. Hypnos arches with a groan, hands carding through Zagreus’ hair and, yeah, those ebony locks _are_ soft.

“I’ll give you the finest milk from my teet, my Prince.” Hypnos says as Zagreus circles his tongue around his nipple, who then cannot quell a snort at Hypnos’ words.

Oh, _my_ Prince. _His_ Prince. He can get used to that.

“ _Ugh,_ ” Zagreus groans, lifting himself to look down at Hypnos. “Don’t say things like that. You’ll make me wish for a milken shake and I’ll get distracted from ravishing you. Do you want that to happen?” 

“You make a fair point.” Hypnos concedes, feeling himself half-hard. He glances downwards, to see a welcoming bulge on Zagreus. He licks his lips. “Now, _chop chop,_ get on with it. I want that cock in me post haste.” 

“Of course, dearest.” _Dearest?!_ He’s going to get KO’d by this, good Gods. He’s still too coherent for all this, and Zagreus evidently feels the same, with how his hand suddenly snakes up Hypnos’ leg with obvious intent, cupping Hypnos’ groin.

Hypnos allows his appreciation to show with a groan, head lolled back deeply into the cushions as Zagreus claims him in his hand. He kneads his fingers through Hypnos’ underwear, eventually bringing Hypnos to full hardness and, Gods, _Gods,_ they need to get naked.

When Hypnos moves to lift himself, hands scrambling to his belt, he makes his request known. “Let’s just get naked already, yeah?” He says in a haste.

Zagreus retracts his hand as he allows Hypnos hurriedly disrobe, the Prince moving back to allow the room, and Hypnos assumes Zagreus does the same. Disrobing. But when Hypnos is near naked with his hard cock on display, he looks up, and Zagreus is just. _Sitting_ there. Still clothed! The added bonus of his Prince pawing at his still frustratingly clothed bulge doesn’t retract from the fact he’s _still clothed!_

He’s looking at Hypnos with half-lidded eyes, hand lazily stroking himself, and Hypnos squints. “That included you, you know.” He says.

“Just touching myself as a nymphomaniac while watching you.” Zagreus responds casually.

The gall. The _audacity._ He thinks just because he’s hotter than any pit of lava he can get away from such snarky comments. Well, he’s absolutely right. Hypnos rolls his eyes as theatrically as he can manage.

“Your cock, my ass.” Hypnos orders, snapping his fingers. “Get on it.” 

Zagreus gives him a nod, a snicker escaping him as Hypnos hurries to strip what else is left on his body, sans his eye mask, which stays throughout the night as Zagreus’ laurels will, two crowns that’ll be left forgotten. Zagreus has definitely perfected the art of becoming bare, peeling his clothing away with practically one single swoop as the next thing Hypnos is aware of is that he’s suddenly on his stomach, pressed into the cushions as a weight makes itself apparent on his back. Hypnos is only able to get an _‘oof’_ out as he’s forced into his new position, and then only a sharp intake of breath when he feels a well endowed, and wonderfully erect, member at his rear.

Zagreus need only a single hand pressed onto Hypnos’ back to keep him there, the imprisoning weight is exerted just so to be a healthy reminder: Hypnos is staying _right_ where he is and his hands are beginning to form as fists as he grips onto the sheets with brimming excitement.

Zagreus handled him so dexterously, without a thought, just mere child’s play to manage him so and Hypnos groans at it. An easy effort for Zagreus to have him present his ass, and Hypnos welcomes it with arch of his back, feeling Zagreus’ member between his cheeks.

“That’s all because of you,” Zagreus says, voice deep as it comes from on top of Hypnos, his Prince’s breath a mighty thing cascading against the shell of his ear. “ _All_ you.”

Zagreus accentuates the statement with a languid thrust, a simple slide back and forth to further emphasize that he may as well have a Godsdamn tree branch back there.

“My second finest achievement,” Hypnos breathes. “Right after getting you to bed me in the first place.” 

Zagreus responds with a snort, moving, retracting himself so he grabs hold of Hypnos’ hips with both his hands, lifting the smaller’s rear upwards as Hypnos grunts. 

“Oil—?” Zagreus asks, and Hypnos has already summoned his handy-dandy vial to throw over his shoulder, which Zagreus catches with one hand.

“Knew you’d have some on hand.” Zagreus muses, lubricating a hand and fingers generously. 

“I’m resourceful, what can I say.” Hypnos responds, raising himself to stand on his hands and knees as he looks over his shoulder to how Zagreus casually flicks the vial into de-summoning. He has one hand stationed securely upon Hypnos’ hip, and another about to make an entry.

A full body shiver overruns him as Zagreus’ finger enters him slowly, and Hypnos lets out a exhale of delight but he could go for something much more breaching. But he can’t complain when Zagreus continues to move in him, twisting and curling his finger as an expert in delivering jolts throughout Hypnos’ being. Hypnos’ breath is brought to a shallower pace, a quicker rate as Zagreus continues as torture, furthering still, even when another finger is added and Hypnos is brought to babbling a menagerie of encouragement and pleas to _get in me already Zagreus you have a cock for a reason._

Hypnos attempts to lean himself back, urging Zagreus’ fingers deeper as he attempts to fuck himself on them, but Zagreus thinks otherwise. His hand still stationed on Hypnos’ hip squeezes, clutching as a sudden vice and it’s a warning: _don’t move._ His admonishing is both helpful, Zagreus’ casual strength sends a shockwave through him, and unhelpful, Zagreus’ casual strength is impeding Hypnos’ journey to getting rightfully ass blasted. 

_“In me,”_ Hypnos says through his teeth.

“So impatient.” Zagreus says, so frustratingly casual. 

“I’m going to fall asleep.”

And that’s a promise (/threat) with truth. Zagreus responds with a considering noise, before moving his fingers _just so_ that it makes Hypnos keen and knuckles grow white. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Zagreus scoffs. “As if you wouldn’t love it if you woke up with your hole used and debased.” 

Hypnos giggles, an eruption that first is held behind his mouth before he bursts. He’s got Zagreus’ fingers playing with his hole. Zagreus is erect behind him. What a life. “I love you.” He sighs, dreamily, looking over his shoulder. “You know me _so_ well.”  
  
“And I love you too.” Zagreus replies, giving another mastered twitch of the fingers that elicit a gasp from the smaller. “And I will love fucking you as well.”

And then, finally, _finally,_ fingers exist him, dripping and slick. And despite what it signifies, Hypnos cannot help but groan at their absence, until the tip of something makes itself known as both of Zagreus’ hands encircle his hips.

Hypnos gnaws on his bottom lip as anticipation whirls around him greater than any of Zeus’ cyclones. Zagreus intrudes slowly, letting out a measured exhale as he does so, his movements deliberate as the head of his cock is within Hypnos and the smaller’s face contorts at such a gradual invasion. He attempts to move, longing to move himself upon Zagreus’ cock as he does on his phallic toys, but Zagreus, the wretch, the terrific torturer, thwarts him. His hands at Hypnos’ hips are a hurdle that Hypnos cannot hope to cross, and Zagreus merely extinguishes any attempt.

“ _Im-pa-tient,_ ” Zagreus tuts, in a near sing-song tune and Hypnos feels as though he could go rabid at this rate.

“A proper villain- _argh!_ ” Hypnos is cut off unceremoniously with a strangled cry as Zagreus, _the villain! The wretch!_ decides then to _thrust._ He does so with an impact, and Hypnos feels as though the earth is cracking beneath and above him, Zagreus’ cock shoved so brazenly within him he thinks he goes momentarily blind. And it’s the guessing game: is it Zagreus’ fucking forearm in him, or his dick? Thank _Gods_ he isn’t mortal, dying by dick, while admirable, is likewise embarrassing.

And Zagreus _laughs,_ completing his facade as a scoundrel and he’s in Hypnos, his cock is in Hypnos and he knows already any mere phallic toy will simply not do from now on. 

“You feel _amazing,_ ” Zagreus says, and at least he also sounds as breathless as Hypnos feels.

“ _L-Likewise,_ ” Hypnos wheezes.

And then he _moves,_ and Hypnos _keens,_ his toes curling, his fingers gripping into the fabric of the sheets with such a grasp he could almost tear it, and Zagreus _moves._ He pushes forward with his own hips, and uses his hands to manipulate Hypnos back and forth and Hypnos has no power in this with limbs locked as they are, Zagreus using him so fully and _holy Gods his cock feels so good._

Hypnos’ blubbering continues in gasps that erupt with each thrust, Zagreus’ own noises comprised of his grunting as he continues his movements back and forth, the slapping of flesh a crescendo that grows louder as do their noises. Boy, Zagreus’ walls must be thick because Hypnos is _not_ going to restrain himself. Not as if he could, with how Zagreus quickens, gradually but quickening nonetheless and Hypnos’ body is helpless as it sways with the growing force of his thrusting.

He’s going to be tasting Zagreus, this man is going to rearrange his guts at this pace and Hypnose, truly, couldn’t be happier. And he can do nothing but focus on keeping himself upright as Zagreus exploits how Hypnos’ mind is running away from him as if in a marathon. When Zagreus leans forward, the crushing grip of his hands loosening as to move, Hypnos is engulfed. Zagreus’ chest meets his back, dwarfing Hypnos entirely, and Hypnos can do nothing but let out a broken sob of desperation as his Prince slips a hand under to grab at Hypnos’ cock. The touch is electric, the stroking a force that has his limbs wobble and Zagreus’ other hand completes its journey when the arm is itself curled under Hypnos’ chest, palm at Hypnos’ throat, fingers exerting just enough pressure to keep him where he is.

And there’s nothing but them, there’s nothing but this coalescence of passion and a burning, bright brilliance of feeling. Every inch of skin is intensified, every breath bringing with it a continued stream of radiance, and he’s lost completely in Zagreus’ presence. Zagreus pumps into him with a feverish pace, and Hypnos can do nothing but _feel;_ he cannot propel himself to move, he cannot discern proper thought as the only gleam of consciousness he is given is how Zagreus feels within him. So deeply seated, so ingrained in Hypnos’ being and Zagreus’ body pressed against Hypnos’ feels as though their hearts beat in rhythm to one another, his Prince’s breath against him further tends to the fire that grows as an ever increasing inferno. The hand on his neck is an anchoring presence, a soothing hold that keeps Hypnos immobilized as Zagreus continues, each thrust mounting, each thrust stacking from the previous, and Hypnos is both completely gone and acutely aware of everything simultaneously.

Zagreus’ grip upon his cock is a galvanizing one that seeks to have Hypnos dissolve entirely. Each stroke is an onset of hysteria, every rub the force of a gallop, every touch the sun beneath his skin. 

“Zag—” Hypnos attempts, before he is cut off by an extended whine that is brought out of him. That heat, that fever, near an excruciating thing. “ _Z-Zagreus,_ ” he amends, stars beginning to sprout in his vision. 

“ _Hypnos,_ ” Zagreus _growls,_ deep and primal and with bared teeth, and it completes the tipping edge. 

Euphoria erupts from Hypnos with a savage want, bursting forth as the rapture of the earth, Hypnos’ hands clenched so tightly on the sheets with a vice grip, and his body quakes fully as he opens his mouth in a wordless plea. Zagreus’ movements become frantic, desperate, and he fucks Hypnos through his orgasm, continuing the currents of that bright burst even as Hypnos’ limbs begin to wobble from fatigue.

Zagreus' rumble is one that extends to Hypnos’ body and he releases into the smaller God. Hypnos bites his lip at the feeling of it, of Zagreus’ completion and his one wholeness, Zagreus removing his hands so they settle once more at Hypnos’ hips. Zagreus’ groan is drawn out when he finishes, keeping himself still inside Hypnos as the soundtrack that permeates is their continual gasps and ragged breaths. They stay like that, as they ease their breathing, Hypnos’ limbs trembling and willing to collapse from under him as any moment, Zagreus still buried within his body and Hypnos feels _full._

So much so he actually whines when Zagreus decides to slip out of him at a slow, fatigued pace.

“You should sleep while still inside me.” Hypnos mumbles, lowering himself to lay flat on the bed, sinking into the cushions as he feels decidedly emptier, no matter how fulfilling the new slickness of his rear may feel.

Zagreus gives a light laugh from behind him. “Now that’s an idea.” Hypnos feels a hand pat him on the back. “For a later date, though.” 

Hypnos calms his breathing, inhaling deeply before exhaling as this overwhelming afterglow ebbs away at a leisurely, casual pace. He feels Zagreus trace a hand down his back, his breaths likewise haggard but undeniably pleased, and Hypnos cracks into a grin when he feels Zagreus grip at his rear, pulling at a cheek. He’s admiring a view, alright.

“Proud of yourself?” Hypnos slurs, peeking over his shoulder at Zagreus’ satisfied face.

“Infinitely.” He says, giving a happy squeeze. Typical. Hypnos would be too.

He thinks to sleep _now,_ but is halted when he feels the unmistakable feeling of cloth against him. Zagreus is cleaning him.

“There’s a cast for that,” Hypnos muses quietly, watching Zagreus’ work from over his shoulder. “Express cleaning.”

“I know.” 

Zagreus continues regardless, content with his manual cleaning. Unbridled sap. Hypnos is lulled by Zagreus’s movements, sighing contently as he feels the other bring him to some level of cleanliness. The pillows of the bed are an impossible softness, and his body is limp entirely with any and all vitality drained from him. He could fall asleep just like this. But he doesn’t allow himself such, just yet, as Zagreus moves. Hypnos’ eyes are shut as he feels Zagreus shift, feels covers being brought over his form, feels the indent of the mattress as Zagreus settles next to him. 

The bed feels as though it encompasses the entirety of existence, with how it feels so ceaselessly comfortable. A glow of this, of them, together in this sea of cushions, feels likewise. Ceaseless and infinite. Hypnos opens his eyes to properly look at his partner beside him. His _Lover_. His _Boyfriend._ He smiles as Zagreus regards him back as he leans on his side, head supported by an arm.

He smiles, wider, when Zagreus leans forward, and Hypnos raises his head so their mouths may meet. An easy matchup, and just as cushioned as the bed he lays on.

As Zagreus retracts, he speaks. “I can do anything I want with you, is that what you said?”  
  
“I’m a simple God with impeccable tastes, Zagreus.” Hypnos responds, voice nonchalant. “You already know I’ve been dreaming of bedding you for a while, from your immaculate sleuthing. I’ve got whole plots thought out, developed characters that go through growth, narratives that will leave you salivating, your cock in my ass, my cock in your ass, I’ve thought of everything.” His hand is missing something as he caresses the air. “Wait, speaking of, hold on.”

Hypnos shifts, slipping a hand underneath the blankets and curving around Zagreus’ waist as he scoots himself closer, touching chests with his companion. He reaches his prize with an appreciative squeeze, his Prince’s rear as delightfully full as he thought. Hypnos sighs, boundlessly content to leave his hand claiming a cheek. “There we go.” He says.

Zagreus snorts, using his free arm to curl around Hypnos’ back. “I’m invested already. And salivating. You’ll be sure to explain to me in great, excruciating detail, every single one of these fantasies of yours, and in turn, I will do the same with mine.”  
  
“You masturbated to me?” Hypnos asks, voice radiating with cooing affection. 

“Yes.” Zagreus is such a _romantic._ “And I would really love to know if you are as truly flexible in my dreams.” And Zagreus moves at his final statement.  
  
They both shift, Zagreus moving to claim a more comfortable position and allowing Hypnos to rest on top of him, his rear for Hypnos’ hands another day as the smaller takes resident above his chest. Hypnos scoffs. “Of course I am. How else do you think I am able to suck myself off?”  
  
Zagreus looks genuinely interested at the statement, as he asks: “You can suck yourself off?”  
  
“Allegedly.” 

Zagreus allows his head to fall against the cushions in a small huff of amusement. He has a hand languidly making circles on Hypnos’ back, and while there had been no tension in Hypnos’ body, he feels released from any as if finishing a particularly intimate massage from Zagreus’ touch. He thinks to fall asleep right then, nestled upon the larger man’s chest. 

“I want to do anything I want, with you.” Zagreus murmurs, and Hypnos looks back up at him. 

“And I will allow you to do so.” Hypnos quips with utmost sincerity. 

“In due time. I want to explore every inch of you, every sordid desire you have, every way I can get you to say my name.”

And there’s definitely promise in those words, with how Zagreus speaks with a low voice and that, beautiful, beautiful smirk of his. 

“Well I’m not going anywhere, mate.” Hypnos cracks, and then sleep is dispelled from him entirely as a thought makes itself known. “Which, wow, would you look at that, isn’t that just a great segway? I may not be going anywhere, but you certainly are. So. When you get to the Surface…” He trails off, tapping his fingers on Zagreus’ chest, expectant.

Zagreus’ expression changes, one of acceptance of this conversation as he sighs. 

“What then?” He asks, and Hypnos nods. “Well, when I’m able to hold my own against vicious gardening tools…” 

Then, another sigh, deeper this time, as his hand ceases its tracing upon Hypnos’ back as it settles as an embrace, both arms circling around Hypnos’ form. 

“Hypnos,” Zagreus starts. “I want to be very honest and clear with you. This, _us,_ isn’t some thoughtless thing for me, this isn’t some diversion. I want this to last. I want to be with you.”

He’s been thinking about this. The tone of his voice is a clear enough indicator of that. There’s an unbidden glow that starts in Hypnos’ chest at Zagreus’ words, at the thought that Zagreus has given this attention. Zagreus’ statement, his declaration of want and assurance is a powerful thing that bores itself into Hypnos. 

“And you know how important finding Mother is. But that does not mean I will disappear forever once I reach her.” Zagreus continues. “You’re home for me, Hypnos. And I wouldn’t be able to bear being away from you.”

His tone is so _sincere_ , so bare in its earnestness and there’s nothing but a raw truth and _home_ , it’s home. He is, Zagreus. With his arms around Hypnos, so secure and undeniably safe, a most wondrous palace, this place he’s always meant to be. 

“Don’t say things like that.” Hypnos says, suppressing the knot in his throat. “It’ll literally make me cry. And you don’t want to see me cry.” 

“It’s true.” And it _is,_ Zagreus looks at him with an expression that might just make him melt. “If I am able to traverse the Surface, you’ll be the first to know. The Olympians speak to me even when in Tartarus, and so I’ll find a way to message you, I swear it.”  
  
“I’m holding you onto that.” Hypnos promises with a smile, lifting a finger to further his point with a poke. “Don’t think I won’t quote you on that.” 

“Good. I’m glad.” Zagreus responds, a soft grin in place. “I know you are not fond of brightness and the mortal realm is subject to the chariot of Helios, but I must confess; I’ve thought that perhaps we could, walk, frolick even, in the fields above. I’ll shield you from any undue light.” 

That’s a good image. Sans unnecessary light that would seek to blind him. He’s seen fields of golden flora, brilliant in its sea of amber as if it harvested the light of Helios’ chariot, these meadows in mortal dreams. Always one that rendered any viewer into a pleasant reverie. Simply walking, or, indeed, frolicking, would be nice.

“Only if I’m escorted to those merry mortals with an all expense paid boat trip with a guaranteed no wretches policy.” Hypnos settles, cushioning his face against Zagreus’ chest and slipping his eyes mask downwards. “And we hold hands.” 

“Deal.” Zagreus promises.

* * *

Fine, he’ll concede. Hypnos isn’t so conceited enough to refuse to admit when he was wrong. He can admit that. The Fates _can_ be nice.

And when he sees Zagreus emerge from the Pool of Styx, eyes visibly lighting up as his gaze meets Hypnos’, his mouth breaking into a smile that has his eyes crinkle at the corners that have Hypnos’ own smile widen, the Fates can be downright generous.

**Author's Note:**

> Endymion is said to have been a mortal man so beautiful, that Hypnos used a spell to have him sleep with his eyes open so he could admire him fully. 
> 
> Petteia was an ancient Greek board game that can be compared to modern game chess/checkers. It was played by the ancient Romans and Egyptians as well.
> 
> Well, this got completely out of hand. I did not mean for this to get as long as it did but… 60 fucking pages later, here we are. I tend to shy away from making NSFW stuff because I’m prude and get embarrassed easily but, and I think you can all agree with me, Hypnos needs a good dicking and a good boyfriend. This was originally meant to be some self-indulgent pornery that I wasn’t even planning on posting but then… it grew a mind of its own, there were emotions, some semblance of plot, it got so, so sappy, and now it’s this monstrosity. I hope it was enjoyable! ‘Cuz I’m never writing porn again bro that shit hard lol
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
